


The Helpless, Selfish, One of a Kind

by Anonymous



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Angst and Humor, Chapter 2 Tags:, Found Family, Knifeplay, M/M, Polyamory, Rough Sex, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-14 22:00:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 27,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20608010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Ling needs somewhere to stay, Lan Fan knows just the person with an apartment too big for their own good.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> FYI: Ling and Ed are 21 and Greed is 25

From the other side of the car lanes, Ling watches Lan Fan negotiate the flow of the taxis underneath the concrete wing of the airport. He is leaning on the cart full of luggage – he doesn’t remember what he had shoved into those bags. He is still dressed in the uniform of his internship, just the tie and jacket gone.

It was all so last minute; Ling never thought the transfer into an out of state college would be accepted this late. But as soon as the congratulations came through, Lan Fan told him to pack his bags and get the fuck out of his home. Time to leave. No goodbye note, no explanation.

The laptop cord is hanging out of the backpack. Ling kicks the plug, setting it into a wide arc. He did the college formalities on the plane and booked a hotel room for the next three nights.

Lan Fan runs out of the wall of taxis and hauls the bags off the cart. “Come on,” she tells him. “Just a little more.”

* * *

Several rounds of room service and two nights later, Ling finds his credit card blocked while trying to rent a car.

He doesn’t have the energy for any chipper pretence when he drops down to sit on the curb, legs stretched out between the parked cars.

“You didn’t change your bank account,” Lan Fan states after he gets the first phrase down the phone.

Ling sighs into his palm. “I didn’t have the time.” He didn’t have the time to even remember that his account is linked; he is so tired. It’s stupid, to have forgotten something so basic. He was relying so much on the money he had saved, not even considering that it could be taken away.

“Have you paid for your first term?”

“Yeah—Yeah I’m fine with that.”

“But you have nowhere to live. You don’t have work.”

When Ling laughs it’s a sorry, wet sound that makes him cringe.

“Grandfather and I could—“

“No! No. Please don’t. You have done more than enough for me. I can’t ask again.”

“Then please stay with me until whenever you decide to leave.”

“I can’t impose on you and Winry.”

“Then what will you do?”

Ling stares at the road where the cars pass trash between their wheels. The dry summer dust blows up in clouds off the tarmac.

“I will help you at least find someone who you won’t mind imposing on.”

“You aren’t giving me a choice.”

“No.”

* * *

The bags were packed again, Ling checks out from the hotel and drags himself onto the street as Lan Fan and Winry bicker down the phone to keep him company. Winry had said it sounds like he is about to crack and she doesn’t want to find him begging with the pigeons for crumbs.

It’s raining – a cold, heavy shower of early fall that gathers pools of gray water around the curb. Ling stands outside of the hotel and watches the droplets hit his shoes and the damp patches grow on the linen. The city traffic keeps moving and the pedestrians are rushing with umbrellas they had just bought from the cart vendors.

The taxi pauses by the curb long enough for Lan Fan and Winry to scoop Ling into the car with the bags. They only paused a moment for small talk before resuming the argument that started minutes after the girls had got into the car. Ling doesn’t pretend to follow along, thankful for the white noise.

The last time he had visited, Winry was still in college and the apartment was newly moved into. While Lan Fan is still making the effort to attend class and keep a job, Winry has been working at a garage full time. She brings her work home, doing custom jobs or building computers when she is bored. Besides Lan Fan, the love of destroying and reassembling technology is the one thing Ling has in common with Winry.

On the outside, the apartment building complex where the girls have squirrelled themselves away is utilitarian to the barest bones and on the inside crammed to the brink. Broken umbrellas fall out from a wall closet, a sheet of aluminium slams onto the floor, and tub of screws rolls off a table before anyone is even able to take off their shoes.

The styrofoam trays from dinner are stacked on the table with mismatched legs, brown paper bags torn and covered in sauce are mashed into a thin plastic shopping bag. The girls are in their bedroom, Lan Fan already in her pyjamas under the covers with her phone jammed against her nose while Winry is sat at the desk with the lamp on. Ling is lying limp across the couch with blankets dragged across him, eyes closed but not sleeping.

The air is warm and humid from a shower recently ran. The burbling of a phone calling trills through the narrow hallway.

“Won’t he be asleep already?” Lan Fan whispers through the corner of the duvet.

There is a silence as Winry takes a glance at the clock. “It’s barely two,” she says. “Doubt it. He doesn’t sleep as much as he used to—Hey! Ed!”

There is static as someone responds to Winry.

“I knew you would be awake. I’ve got a favour to ask you—Do you still have that fold out couch?”

Even in the living room, Ling can hear the screech that comes from the phone. He opens an eye to see Lan Fan stare out from under the covers at the phone Winry is holding at arms length.

“I’m fine!” Winry hisses after pressing the phone back against her ear. “I swear to fuckin—ED! EDWARD! I’m fine—! This isn’t about me!”

Fabric sighs as Winry shifts in her seat. “Ed, you wouldn’t mind taking on another drifter case, would you? He is a friend and just needs some help before he is back on his feet.”

There is laughter, from Winry and Lan Fan.

“I know you have a soft spot just like Al. I promise Ling won’t mess up your place.”

“I’ll vouch for him,” Lan Fan calls out to the phone.

“Just keep your stray cat under control, yeah? Yeah. Thanks, Ed. We both just want to make sure he will be okay. It’s been a rough week for him.”

Ling doesn’t listen to the soft mutters in the bedroom as he turns over on the couch, finally willing to sleep.

* * *

“Did you say how old this guy is?”

“Same as you. He is turning twenty-two soon,” Lan Fan tells Ling underneath the white painted brick building with balconies divided by pillars. The windows are tall, and so are the ceilings if the glimpses through the glass are anything to go by. The gas bill must be a pain in winter, but it wouldn’t be any trouble for someone living in this apartment building.

The taxi meanders away down the street through the downpour as Winry runs up to the last door of the complex. It’s unlocked and the hallway is no less grand than the exterior: The staircase handrail is polished pewter and the steps are cushioned with thick carpet that sinks under their footsteps; The doors seem to be solid timber and the walls are without a stain on the white paint.

“Ed promised that he left us a key,” Winry assured, urging them toward the top floor of the building. “Since he will probably late home anyway.”

“Can’t his ‘roommate’ open it for us?” Lan Fan asks when they have kicked up the carpet and searched the fake yet dying plant outside of the neighbor’s door.

“I don’t think he would wake up even if we knocked down the door manually.”

Ling is hanging over the railing, staring down the staircase spiral to the ground floor. He is tired and getting hungry – the rain has taken the energy out of him.

Yawning, Ling pushes himself away from the railing and slips down the staircase with a glance to Winry and Lan Fan. Behind the front door the rain is pouring in sheets: the pipes are rattling, overfull with water running toward the storm drains, and the patch of garden is a grassy swamp.

Cars hush through the growing puddles as Ling sits on the front step of the apartment building. He crosses his arms on his knees and breathes into the sleeves of his hoodie, staring down at the black painted spirals of the garden gate.

His head sinks against his lap, kneecaps pressing into his eye sockets as he groans. Ling almost doesn’t hear the purr over the pouring water in the pipes. He flinches at a nudge and looks down at a black and white cat with a stumped tail sitting down beside him on the step. It licks its off-white muzzle and rasps. Though the cat isn’t skinny or sickly, it looks like its been worn through by a roguish life; its dirty and patches of fur are missing on its muzzle and ears.

“Honestly if I had any food I would’ve eaten it myself,” Ling mutters at the cat.

The sagging ball of damp fur rounds Ling while purring and plots itself on his left side. It’s when he sees the empty cat dishes lined up underneath the building, all of them identical and cleaned out.

“Huh,” Ling scoffs. “Find me some money first and I’ll help you.” He looks down at the grinning cat. “Deal?”

The garden gate opens and the cat chirps at the sound of boots scuffing down the path.

“Move, fat ass.”

Ling turns and looks up and down at the kid stood at the foot of the steps in a drenched hoodie and utility trousers haphazardly stuffed into unlaced platform boots. He is holding a plastic grocery bag under one arm, the handles twisted to cover the inside from the rain.

“That is very rude of you,” Ling tells him.

“I was talking to the cat,” the kid says, squinting at Ling from under the drooping hood. “It’s my brother’s fault he got that damn fucking fat.”

“You live here with your parents?”

Animosity drags over the kid’s posture, like he is balling up for a fight – ready to throw punches and block hits. “Ex-fucking-scuse me?” he grinds through his teeth.

Ling smiles easily at him. “I’m guessing you aren’t just here to complain about the cat and you do live in this building.”

“What makes you think I live with my parents?” The kid steps forward, looming from his slight height.

Ling is saved from answering the question with uncertain results by a phone ringing in the kid’s pocket. With gritted teeth, he takes out the phone in a scratched and dented case and answers the call. Ling drops his grin when he hears the snap of Winry’s voice on the line.

“It’s above the door!” the kid yells. “On the ledge! Wha—Fucks sake nobody would m—Fine! I’m right outside, if this idiot would just get out of the way I could co—“ Then he stops and looks down at Ling. “What’s your name?”

“Ling Yao, nice to meet you.” He smiles wide.

The kid stares, tight lipped. “I’ve just met the idiot. You can keep him.” The phone blows up with noise. “Just kidding! Just kidding! Jesus fucking Christ.”

The call ends and Ling is looked over again. “Stand up,” says the stranger and Ling complies.

There is at least a good head in height difference between them even when they are both on even ground. Ling watches the kid crumple before his eyes before stepping over both steps toward the door and grumbling, “Get the fuck in you freak.”

“You’ve met Edward already!” Winry is leaning over the railing, looking down at them as they walk up from the third floor.

“He called me fat!” Ling whines, dragging his feet up the steps.

“It was the cat, you dumbfuck,” Ed throws of his shoulder. He has already jogged to the top floor to veer between Winry and Lan Fan to the door.

“The cat…” Lan Fan puzzles, “called him fat?”

“Okay, you fuck off too!”

Ling spins on his heels on the step and drags himself down the staircase. “I’ll—I’ll just leave then,” he whines, slumped forward. “I’ll be okay— Figure something out. Don’t worry about me!”

Lan Fan’s sneakered feet dash across the carpeted floor as she grabs hold of his jacket and hauls him back onto the landing. “Stop that!” she hisses.

A key clacks in the lock as Ed opens the front door of his apartment. “Well come in then, fucks sake.” He throws off his hood and shakes out blonde hair from a worn out braid which has been turned brown by the rain.

  
A cup of hot water would’ve done the same job of warming Ling’s hands, but he agreed to coffee anyway. The process of waiting for it allowed Ling to watch Ed’s hand play in his own hair without being caught, turning over the loose pieces and twisting them haphazardly before letting them drop and swing past the height of his shoulders. It’s when Ling was shoved the mug he noticed that the other hand is prosthetic with streamline chrome casing. The fingertips are dented and scuffed, potentially from heavy use, and deep scrapes have bent the metal panels beside the elbow joint.

Winry shoves aside boxes of photocopied book pages and envelopes to find a spot to sit on the gray pure-polyester couch underneath the broad windows. The other furniture in the apartment are the kitchen cabinets, a table, armchairs with the Ikea stickers still on the sides, and a coat rack which is drying out a duffle bag and a red winter coat with a thick white fluffy collar. There a unopened parcels stacked against the walls in the same generic packaging. They all have different sender address, but written in the same hand. A smaller stack of online shopping has been pushed aside on a kitchen counter with post-it notes labelled ‘Ed’. The writing is different.

The high white walled apartment with broad windows and smooth dark floorboards has been standing like a storage unit. Ling now understands what Winry meant when she said that someone might as well use it. It looks ridiculous clean, too large, too unoccupied.

“Gosh you sure made it home-y here, Ed.” Winry leans over to look at the enveloped Lan Fan has taken out of a box. Its unsealed and fat with printing stock. The photos seem to be of trails and landscapes, interspersed with pictures of concrete walls and the blur of wire fences.

“I haven’t been back a lot, you know,” Ed scoffs. “And Greed is never awake when he is home to do something.”

“Greed?” Ling mouths at Lan Fan, but Ed turns to him before she can answer.

“So,” Ed draws out through his teeth. “You don’t have a job.”

“I’ll have that fixed that soon,” Ling assures as the girls continue browsing the photos in the boxes. “I’ll pay back what I’m due.”

To his wonder, Ed waves him off. “It’s fine.” Turning away, he opens the mostly empty fridge and starts shoving groceries inside. “What’s the point of paying half the rent when technically only one person ends up living here.”

When Ed is not paying attention to his visitors, Ling sharply turns to Lan Fan and hisses. “How the fuck does he manage to afford this?”

Her shoulders draw up to her ears.

“He got a lot of scholarships and sponsors when he graduated high school early and applied for college,” Winry mutters, nose glued to a map marked through with blue pen and red desert dust. “And inheritance. Just take his offer.”

“You don’t want anything in return?” Ling calls out to Ed who seems to be pretending not hear the conspiring. He turns with a struck look all over his tan face.

“Uh, I’m doing this so those two won’t yell at me.” Ed points to a scowling Winry and glaring Lan Fan. “Don’t call the police when Greed turns up before sunrise, alright?”

“Wait—Who is ‘Greed’?”

* * *

The couch folds out into a double bed across the cleared floor on four shaking pegs for supports. The boxes have been shoved into a wall closet and a shelf has been cleared out in the fridge despite Ling’s insistence that he will need more than that. He has been instructed on the maintenance and where not to go: the rooms down the corridor - besides the laundry room and the bathroom - are off limits, he is in charge of his own mess and no unnecessary noise at night.

Between work interviews and unorthodox college induction, Ling only sees the white walls of the apartment in the late evening. Too tired to look at anything beyond the plates of food surrounding him on the kitchen floor before dropping onto the bed in the middle of the living room, barely undressed.

Sometimes, Ed is home and they see each other in the morning. Too groggy to complain or argue, nudging each other out of the way as they get breakfast before wobbling out of the door. They usually go the same way and wait at the bus stop in silence in sleep deprived comradeship.

It’s a week and a half before Ling meets Greed. As promised, it’s some time before sunrise.

Ling came home early and crashed into bed immediately, crawling underneath the bundles of blankets he accumulated. He slept easier and lighter than he had for weeks until he was woken up by the smell of city dust and something acrid and heavy. The front door closed with surprising softness considering how much the footsteps dragged and scuffed the floorboards.

Keys fall on the floor. Someone bent down with a creak and a groan to pick them up. The coatrack rattled and shoes were kicked off against the wall. The faucet ran and a cup was left in the sink.

Ling curled deeper into the covers with his head under the pillow. His legs shot up away from the middle of the bed when it rocked with the presence of a second weight. An arm hit his knees and Ling sat up from the sheets and pillows to stare down at the man sprawling over the foot of the fold out couch. The skin tight black tank top rode up on his torso while dust kneed black jeans attempt an escape off his hips.

The head of gel ruffled hair turned to him and sleep robbed pink eyes squinted. “Oh right, you are Ling. Yeah?”

A hand with a leather cord coiled around the wrist stretched out to him and Ling could do nothing but shake it.

“Mind me crashing here for a moment?” the man asked, turning over onto his stomach and giving a better view of his face which had Ling melting even so uselessly early in the morning. “Just a minute and then I’ll go. Yeah?”

Ling shrugged; he would get up soon anyway.

“Thanks—Oh right, I’m the one Ed calls Greed. Alright? Cool.” And then Greed pulled a loose blanket over his torso and turned over, knocked out with exhaustion within moments.

Ling dropped back against the pillows and forgot about the incident until he was awake again from the sound of his alarm and Ed’s bedroom door opening.

“Your cat came home this morning,” Ling told him, pointing to the ball of blankets and legs at the foot of the bed.

Ed stared with wide eyes at Greed. He walked up to the edge of the bed and landed his prosthetic foot onto Greed’s ass with a solid thump. They both stared as the man groaned but didn’t shift, sleeping as tightly as before.

“Give him an hour,” Ed said before going to find breakfast.

* * *

Three weeks in. The new bank account is sorted, there is an IT assistant position available and waiting. College is finally starting to settle and Ling finds himself staying up later – long enough to see Greed prowl through the apartment likes it’s only the crack of dawn and search for coffee and stale bread for toast. He scuttles through, complaining that there is still sunlight, pausing to talk to Ling before getting dressed and disappearing for work.

If Ed is home, he will glare and complain from behind the fort of boxes he has built where he sorts to contents of the parcels. They are mostly photos, or folders of papers that smell like dust. Sometimes, he will clean a stack of cameras, some vintage and some hi-tech, chasing sand out of the cracks. All the while, he will instruct about the mess in the laundry room and someone’s very poor job of washing the dishes. Greed will dutifully nod while picking through his phone on the couch beside Ling – finally shutting down his laptop.

One night, he flicks Ling’s ponytail into his face and says over Ed’s muttering, “You’re old enough to drink, right?”

“No, I’m just here because my father forgot to pick me up from middle school,” Ling tells him cheerfully and watches Greed decide if he is honest to god telling the truth. “Of course I’m old enough.”

“Right, right, yeah.” Greed still doesn’t seem certain. “Well, anyway, come by Devil’s Nest, let me get you wasted. That’s a thing college kids still do right?”

“Stop talking like you are sixty!” Ed’s yells from the floor. Both Greed and Ling glance down at him from the kitchen. “You are only four years older than either of us. And that tall freak looks older than you, anyway!”

“It’s not like I have money,” Ling considers with a pout. It’s not the complete truth; though he has been an idiot, he has enough cash that in his current situation he can afford to waste some.

Greed gave him a wide shrug. “Fuck it. I work there - it’s on me!”

Once Greed left, Ed sat in his small chaos of papers, staring at the wall beside the front door. The notebook in his hand was slipping as his eyes took on a blank look.

Ling smashed a cracker into his mouth and watched Ed jerk out of his daze. “If this foremost is your place, how come you let him stay?”

Ed only thinks a moment before reply: “He has a car. Mine broke several state lines over when I met him.” Then he smiles. “And he pays half the rent.”

* * *

With work and school, Ling is absent from the apartment. Sometimes, Ed is gone for days to attend conferences, sometimes he has work he will not explain. Greed is gone during the night and dead to the world in one of the rooms during the day. But there are days when all three of them are home.

Those are the days on which Ling feels like an intruder, far more than when he is in the empty apartment full of foreign belongings walking through like a thief, and he can’t place why.

The arguments, the squabbling, the punching and kicking that, despite their persistence, are somehow affectionate and make Ling feel like he is standing outside of a window looking inside. Even when the confrontations become so explosive the neighbours knock through the walls, they usually end with Greed flicking Ed on the nose and laughing. Ling isn’t sure if he was meant to notice the smile between them.

He considers begging out of the favour and using up his cash on a cheap hotel on one of those days, when nobody has work – or class. It’s early winter and the first frost has left the air too thin and sharp to breathe and the sidewalks glassy.

Ling shudders from his feet to his shoulders, holding close the bag of takeaway under his coat. He had been hoping to see Lan Fan after class, but she was held behind and then he had a battle with on campus scanners. So they cancelled for another day – maybe.

With a yawn which makes his mouth ache, Ling pauses underneath the windows of a grocery store at the same time as a sneeze catches him in a spasm. After wiping his nose, he rights the precious cargo of food under the duffle coat and looks at the reflection in the glass to make sure there is no snot smeared across his face.

Ling is about to step away from the windows, but the sight of his housemates shoving each other in an aisle strikes him in place. Both of the baskets, one overfilled and the other with just cereal and bacon, are in Greed’s gloved hands as he tries to kick the backs of Ed’s knees and make him keel over. Ed is in his red parka with the fluffy hood down and his hair is unbraided – damp from a shower. He is wearing pyjama pants tucked into boots, fluffy blue and white socks poking out between the undone laces.

Ed’s retaliations to Greed’s attacks are slow and mellow, barely shoves; he must be hardly awake. With his hands full, Greed pushes the top of Ed’s head with his chin like a sad dog begging for attention.

Greed must have said something, probably whining, because Ed is holding back laughter as he pauses his browsing. Greed drops his chin onto Ed’s shoulder, nudging him, and Ed turns toward him. Their faces are hidden from view by the hood of Ed’s coat and Greed’s shoulder, so close together they only need to whisper.

Ling jerks away from the window. Tight lipped and flushed, he rushes home, using the newly cut key to get into the apartment. The bags are left on the floor beside the kitchen table and the frost stung clothes thrown across the side of the couch.

For a while, Ling stood at the centre of the living room, breathing hard, looking ahead at the black glass of the window. He stood like a criminal between the blank white walls, listening to the tap of pipes beneath the floorboards.

* * *

Pieces of chrome shine on Winry’s workbench. The edges are still rough and the shapes undefined, but the plan of the plates covering Ed’s arm are recognisable. There are springs and spools of wire in reused plastic tubs from the supermarket and 3D printed blocks that need filing abandoned on the green cutting mat. Plans for how the pieces are meant to come together are tacked to the cork board above the desk, but Ling can’t tell apart the lines in the fuzzy glare of beer-drunkenness.

Looking away from the sketches, he tries to spin a screwdriver on the tip of his middle finger again while turning the padded stool in the opposite direction.

In the living room, Winry is sobbing as she watches Planet Earth, trying to stifle her sniffling in the bucket of discount Halloween candy. Lan Fan must still be in the kitchen, reheating left overs. They had found a case of beer after almost frying the only desktop computer in the apartment while writing Dark Souls mods. They concluded the session on the floor with heads too fuzzy to make sense of the keyboard.

The screwdriver spins off Ling’s fingertips and falls onto the floor between his feet. He is looking at the cork board and the photos hidden behind the notes and receipts. He knows the blonde heads of Winry’s mom and dad, the three legged dog, a house in the country with the tiny figure of granny on the doorstep. At the top of the cork board are the cut outs of sample school pictures that come in the envelope to make an order – the school must’ve been catholic, judging by the uniforms. The two grimacing golden haired boys buttoned tightly into their shirts and jackets stare ahead with such determination Ling smiles.

A phone rings in the living room and drops onto the floor as Winry fumbles for it in the blanket.

“Paniny—Oh, Al! Hey, what’s up?”

Plates clack on the counter as Lan Fan walks around the corner of the kitchen into the living room.

“No, he isn’t with us—Wai’ wha’? You tried both SIM cards?”

A beer bottle spins under Ling’s foot as he wobbles after the sound of the conversation. Winry immediately spots him and waves him over.

“Is Ed alive?” she asks.

Ling shrugs as he drops himself over the back of the couch. “He said he would come back from his trip tonight.”

Two weeks ago Ed packed his bag and haphazardly slung a camera around his neck at seven in the morning. He had pinched Ling awake to tell him he would be gone for a while and not to burn the building down. Ling asked him what he will be doing, but Ed only smiled and said the walls have ears before disappearing through the door.

Ling became more curious after finally taking Greed’s offer and visiting the Devil’s Nest. The cold night had frightened most customers out of coming down to the burgundy colored basement bar and Ling had the counter to himself with the bartender leaning across it with a sharp smirk.

He drank a michelada to snap some of the cold out of his gut while Greed laughed at Ed’s last remark. He gave up on the no staring rule after watching how the muscles of Greed’s chest moved under the black turtleneck with cropped sleeves as he snickered.

“I’m not gonna lie, I barely know what he gets up to either,” Greed told him. “But— I mean, I don’t know if this is a cover up for the fact he is an actual travel blogger hipster, I do know its about super top secret military facilities that us, mere school drop outs, wouldn’t know about.”

Ling reminded him that he isn’t a school drop out but Greed waved him off. “The point is,” he said, “let’s not shove our noses where that little genius is or we will get thrown into a vat of molten metal and buried underground.”

“Then why are you talking about it now?”

“Who is gonna believe the shit coming out of my mouth, huh?”

Ling pressed his smirk to the lip of his glass.

Now, distantly, Ling wonders if Ed had finally caught himself in a tangle he can’t punch his way out of.

“What an idiot, his phone is probably dead,” Winry mumbles, slipping back under the blanket. Al is laughing on the other end of the line.

The couch shakes as Lan Fan drops down beside Winry, dragging her legs up from the cold floor.

“I’ll go and check if he is home,” Ling suggests. “Besides, its late.”

“Heard that, Al?” Winry’s eyes are already shutting, head tilting toward the armrest as Ling and Lan Fan watch her. “The new roommate will check on him, ‘Kay? Alright. Love you. Lots.”

On his way out of the cubbyhole the girls call home in the sinking downtown of the city, Lan Fan shoves leftovers onto Ling and pushes him out of the door, struggling to say goodnight through her yawns. He counts the bowed steps out of the building and carefully navigates the rusting front door, willing himself to walk into the night.

The path home is automatic as hands and feet begin to hurt from the cold. The metro is slugging through the city with empty carriages and deserted platforms. Ling feels the static of numb limbs echo up to his knees as he steps back out of the light of the station and begins to march.

On the street of pale apartment buildings, the windows are dark and the curtains are drawn. The winter abandoned balconies with empty plant pots are the only spectators in the dark as Ling runs to the front door of the corner building.

The lights are off inside the apartment, but the thrown boots beside the door tell that Ed is home, at least. Ling texts Winry while shoving Tupperware into the fridge. He almost forgets to take off his coat and scarf, the wool lined boots are almost too cosy to get rid of.

Ling is yawning into the collar of his sweater when he hears the strain of a sound, so faint he might have hallucinated it. He looks down the corridor with a single crack of lamp light splitting the dark. There is a strained moan, shaken by laughter.

Makes sense; It’s Greed’s night off, he must have someone over.

Grimacing, Ling walks out of the living room down the hallway dividing the rooms; he might as well check on Ed and remind him not to scare his brother. Shuffling past the room with the light, he glances at the crack in the door, faltering immediately.

Sheets crinkle and voices envelop each other – quiet in the low light. Ling stands frozen as he stares.

The bed is a mess, covers drooping to the floor, pillows pressed into shapeless lump. A floor lamp is a single light in the room, pulling deep shadows on the two figures on the bed: Greed dressed in his jeans and tank top, boots still on, hair ruffled as his head is buried between Ed’s thighs.

Behind the loose hair, it is hard to see Ed’s face. The soft moans are kept behind the palm of his left hands as the metal fingertips rest over the back of Greed’s head, pushing him closer, following the slow rhythm he has set.

Ed is only wearing a T-shirt, reclined over the slumped pillows, flushed and lazy on the bed with his legs closed around Greed’s head to keep him in his place. Greed pulls away, wiping his mouth on the inside of Ed’s thigh. Maybe he whispers ‘I missed you’, maybe something else, but its lost behind the groan as Greed bites down on the inside of Ed’s thigh. Both of his hands cover his mouth as Greed presses wet, open-mouthed kisses to the taut skin and the seam of the prosthetic leg.

The soft, slick sounds drip into the corridor as Greed presses his mouth back between Ed’s open legs, head bobbing while Ed sobs into his palms.

Ling looks away, mouth pulled thin and eyes wide, wanting to disappear out of the front door, or climb out over the balcony. But he stands there, wanting to press closer to the door, watch Ed’s legs drop over Greed’s shoulders and drag up the the hem of his tank top.

“If you are gonna stand gawking there, you might as well help.”

Ling considers himself to be able to deal with unexpected situations pretty well, but when Greed’s voice snatches his eyes back to the crack in the door and he sees two stares caught on him he truly doesn’t know what to do.

Ed licks the sweat off his lip as Greed leans away, opening his body to the light of the bulb. There is color splotching Greed’s face – running from his neck to his mouth where his lips have been worked into a flush. Ling can’t look away from them as they shape words.

“Don’t you want to get a taste of him?”

Ling swallows as Ed turns to Greed, looking equally struck.

Maybe it’s the drinks that make Ling walk into the room, striding like he is in a dream toward the metal framed bed with grey sheets. He doesn’t get the chance to look over Ed, watch him go red and pinched in the face, as Greed grabs him by the back of his neck and kisses him.

Ling holds onto his shoulders, spreading his hands over the broad muscle and twisting the straps of the tank top around his fingers. Greed wastes no time to part open Ling’s mouth open and press his tongue against his teeth as Ling wills his jaw to relax. He licks against Greed’s tongue and tastes the tang of sweat and smells sex on his skin, pressing in to taste more with his self conscious reservation easing away. Greed’s hands are on his hips, fingers pressing into the waistband of his sweatpants, pulling him closer to the bed, closer to the sheets warmed by the two figures on the mattress.

“Well don’t you have a clever mouth,” Greed smirks when he pushes Ling away by his chin. Ling jerks his lip in a scowl, but doesn’t respond. “Why don’t you keep Ed occupied while I show him exactly how much we’ve missed him.”

Ling looks over to Ed and feels his face flush; Ed is watching them with scheming determination bright in his feverish eyes. His hands have stopped twisting down the hem of his T-shirt in favour of scratching his fingers across his thighs, following the red marks left by Greed’s teeth in the soft skin.

“Come on, give him some space.” Ed spits curses at Greed when he grabs him by the backs of his knees and drags him down the bed closer to his lap, creating space at the head of the bed.

Ling drops against the pillows, legs hanging over the side of the bed, as Ed’s golden head thumps back against his thighs. He is smiling when Ling leans down to kiss him. The sun-golden hand catches in his fringe, tugging on his scalp to ruin the tail of black hair – yanking out the tie. Ling drags out the kisses, just to assure himself that it’s Ed, that it’s all real as he covers his jaw with the width of his hand – keeping Ed in place to indulge himself as he kisses his cheeks, his jaw, his ears, the peek of his neck.

A whimper cuts Ling away from Ed’s mouth. Licking his lips, he looking down Ed’s body, the rucked T-shirt twisted around his prosthetic hand, to the tan lines on his hips, and the strong legs caught around Greed’s head as sucks his cock. There is a broad grin on Greed’s face as he pulls up, squeezing his hands on Ed’s knees and dragging them down to his ass, adjusting him like Ed’s weight is nothing, and then gets back to work. His lips are obscene, pink and red in contrast to his ashen skin and deep bruises under his eyes and around the knuckles of his hands which squeezes Ed’s ass and thighs mercilessly.

The bed creaks as Ed tries to lift himself up or trap Greed’s head with his knees down against his pelvis as he bucks up into his mouth – trying to get his cock deeper into his mouth. But Greed holds him by his hips – as mailable as a toy. Ling pushes down on Ed’s chest, pressing his fingers between his ribs. He has a feeling that Ed is letting them keep him down; he can feel the strength rearing up in his limbs, coiled under the muscle and bone as Greed and Ling kiss and stroke him.

Ling leans away and looks down at Ed’s flushed face in his lap, golden hair twisted around his neck and ears as he squirms, trying to squint through his damp lashed at Greed between his thighs. Ling grabs Ed’s face in his hand, squeezing his cheeks, making him look up at his eyes, and kisses him on the open mouth.

Slick sounds fill the space between them as Greed pulls away to wrap his hand around Ed’s cock and bite over his stomach. He licks the sharp points of his hips and flat plane of his stomach as his fist works over the head of his cock, rubbing and teasing, slick with spit.

Ling feels dizzy. He closes his eyes and whines against Ed’s temple, feeling him wheeze out a laugh.

The breath of warm, damp air against his cheek startles Ling. He looks up at Greed who has moved up the bed, leaning over Ed, and is staring down at his lips. His face is unusually flushed, eyes hazy, as he leans down and pushes aside Ling’s hair to kiss him under his jaw. Ling bows into the feeling of Greed’s lips and whimpers when teeth scratch on his neck. To feel the warmth of Greed’s mouth on his skin, his hand caught in his hair, does not seem real.

“Oh fu—uck—“ Ed moans underneath them. Greed laughs beneath Ling’s ear as he glances down to see Greed’s fist squeezing on Ed’s cock, working hard to bring him off. His legs are forced apart by Greed’s thighs, powerful in the thinly stretched denim – so ironically different to Ed’s wiry tanned almost naked body caught between them.

Ling leans down and bites Greed’s lip and cracks a grin when he gasps, snarling back into the kiss. Ling knows the show is working as Ed’s moans become uncontrolled and his breathing struggles to keep up. He feels the wheezing air against his palm as he strokes the sweat damp cheek while continuing to kiss Greed – just for the feeling of it.

Greed breaks away from Ling at the last moment to bury his face against Ed’s neck as he shudders, squirming hard enough to shift Greed. He grinds his hips up into the tight lock of Greed’s fist, fucking his hand with deep thrusts of his shaking hips until he drops like the strings have been cut. Cum runs down Greed’s fist as his hand continues to move. Ling flushes at the sound of wet skin moving, fingers squeezing and rubbing.

“You see how much we missed you?” Greed whispers against Ed’s neck as his hand presses lower between his legs. A weak whimper squeaks out of Ed’s throat as his eyes roll. “You remember this the next time you leave, yeah?”

“Fuck yo—“ Ed slaps Greed on the side of his head, finally making him take his hand away. Ed immediately yanks down his t-shirt and winces.

Greed plants his face on Ed’s chest and heaves with laughter. Ed doesn’t push him away, just stares at the spikes of dark hair sticking up with sweat and worn-through gel. There are red prints on Greed’s faces from where Ed’s thighs had squashed his cheeks and temples and the shaved hairs are sticking to the back of his neck with the drying tracks of sweat. He looks like a happy wreck.

Ling’s mouth is burning up from the kisses, but he lets himself be pulled into another when Ed drags him down.

One sheet is not enough for three grown men, but neither is Ling is willing to get out of bed and drag blankets from the living room.

It’s almost morning, but still deep in the winter night. The pipes are clicking in the walls, water is still dripping in the bathroom. Above the sheets, the cold cuts Ling’s skin. He sighs against the arm Greed has underneath Ed’s head – locked around him close enough to be a chokehold. His legs are flung over Ed’s hips and hooked on Ling’s thighs, like he is trying to gather them both at once as close as possible – under his skin.

Though Greed is barely dressed even in a pair of shorts, he is warm enough to keep all three of them toasted underneath the scrap of a blanket. Ling taps his fingers on the shoulder of Ed’s prosthetic, feeling the patch of heat where his hand was.

Slowly, trying not to peek a toe or his nose into the cold, Ling shifts. He stretches his back, rolls his shoulders, and drags his legs out from underneath Greed’s as he turns onto his back. Ling is too awake, too uncomfortable in the cramped space, but unwilling to leave. There, trapped by the two sleeping figures, he has an excuse to not leave the bed and start working, to think about classes, money—

Ling sighs and frowns up at the ceiling. Ed is snoring on his left, a head of loose pale blonde hair barely peaking from under the sheets. Ling looks at him from the corner of his eye, trying hard not to yawn. Behind him, he sees lazy eyes watching through the dark.

Ling swallows hard. Across the bed, but barely an arm’s reach away, Greed smiles and shows his tongue. He looks wide awake, despite his sleep ruined hair and the pillow creases on his cheek.

The sheets hush and shift as Greed pushes a hand toward Ling. He curls in his lips as fingertips draw down from his temple, to his cheek, his jaw, curling on the soft baby hairs lying in a tangle across his face.

“Sleep,” Greed whispers into the haze of the night room.

Ling can’t argue; his eyes are already closing, mind fuzzy with drifting thoughts – too difficult to pull apart and to remember to open his eyelids again.

* * *

Somehow the bar is shadier than the first few times Ling had come. Maybe because it’s late, far later than when most places would close. Taxis are already drifting on the street, stuffed with drunks and over-done rave goers. Ling couldn't sleep, so he dragged himself out of bed at two, trying to make as little as possible noise as he dressed. He sat in the living room for a while longer, completely unaware of the walls around him.

It's been weeks since Greed dragged Ling into bed with him and Ed. Though he accepts and returns the affection shown toward him, like Ed's ambushing kisses or Greed's insistence to drag him into his lap, Ling feels like he has intruded.

As Ed and Greed become open with their domesticity, Ling finds himself staring, more often drooling, as they get carried away. Sometimes its just being cute, stupidly cute, as they stagger through their work days, and sometimes its falling head first into kisses which deepen as hands go wandering.

Ling had once walked in one them and almost coughed his milkshake out through his nose when he saw Greed holding Ed up with one arm under his ass while Ed's legs were wrapped around Greed's waist. It was rather innocent, no pants were even lost, but something about them being so nonchalant paired with seeing a beautiful face against another beautiful face broke Ling.

Ed almost fell onto the floor when they heard Ling spluttering in the doorway. But Greed caught him, even if upside down.

In the night-come-morning, Ling breathes out a ‘hello’ behind his coat collar as Roa nudges his shoulder on his way into the bar.

"It's quiet today," Roa says over his shoulder as Ling the steps down into the bar basement.

Someone has had the thought to put up Halloween decorations in place of anything Christmas appropriate. Maybe they decided that the single Santa hat on the skeleton hanging from a noose is enough. Ling knocks the jack o’ lanterns lights hanging pinned to the maroon painted concrete wall as he steps onto the main floor of the bar.

The music has been left low and the lights dim – lilacs and blues with the orange of the seasonal fairylights. The space smells of old candles, damp timber, and that familiar scent of beer which always hangs in the air in the morning after Greed comes home. Then it stains the sheets in the evening when Ed and Ling are in bed, ready to sleep.

Ling drops his coat onto a stool and hops onto one beside it. He realises suddenly that he never tied his boots (a dumb habit from Ed), the t-shirt isn’t his – too long, too broad, he doesn’t even like black.

“What can I get you, sweet face?”

A hand swipes into view across the bar under Ling’s nose, flicking his attention up. Greed smirks as he plants his chin of his fist, winking.

“A glass of hot milk and a kiss goodnight?” Ling chirps.

He gets scuff on the head and laughter for his trouble. “Wait—“ Greed slaps his pockets for his phone. “Shouldn’t you actually be asleep right now?”

Ling sighs before plotting his head on the bar. “Couldn’t sleep,” he mumbles into the timber.

“What? That brat kept kicking you?” Something is being poured, glass and metal clicks.

“Hu—No? He never moves, have you even seen him? He lies limp like a corpse after he is out.”

“Hmm, must’ve been you kicking for weeks then.”

A cold glass nudges Ling’s nose and he smiles and tells Greed he isn’t there to drink.

“Alright, well, leave then.”

Ling glares.

“Just kiddin’—“ Greed shows his tongue and grins with his teeth. “Are you here then to look at my pretty face?”

Ling doesn’t answer, dragging his head up to get his mouth on the glass.

Staff meander behind the bar, pausing for conversation before going on. Greed leaves from moment to moment, returning to refill Ling’s glass and to listen to him mutter. He promises that if he stays until they have closed and cleaned for the next night’s opening, Greed will drive him home.

Ling doesn’t know if he is getting tired or if it’s the alcohol, but what was left of his decent mood is drowning. He speaks less and responds without words to the conversations Greed or someone else try to start with him.

Ling drags himself out from behind the bar, tensing at the creaks in his back and neck, and shuffles into the restroom through the peeling purple door. His eyes are sore from the low lights hanging above the dusty, water sprayed mirrors with torn stickers plastered over their frames. At least the speckled grey floors are not flooded.

Ling stands with his back against the divide between two stalls. He shuts his eyes and feels his head become thrown into a sway by the drinks and music. He bows forward, hanging there like he can’t decide between falling and righting himself.

Self pity doesn’t suit Ling. He knows that. But sometimes he can’t help it, when it’s so late at night and he isn’t sleeping or working to keep his head quiet.

The restroom door hits the wall, shaking on the hinges as it begins to close. Ling cracks open an eye to see Greed standing in the doorway. There is a curious frown on his face.

“What are you doing hiding in here?” The door closes with a clap behind Greed and the keys in his pocket clack with the rhythm of the heels of his shoes as he walks toward Ling. “Please don’t be sick.”

Ling smiles. “I won’t.”

“Then why aren’t you out there looking all pretty while I’m pretending not to stare at you.”

Ling opens both of his eyes. “Pretty?”

The heels of the black lacquered shoes scuff on the cracked tiles as Greed turns to stand in front of Ling. The shadows hang heavy around him, silhouetted by the dim blue light. There is a warm touch brushing across Ling’s side, tugging his t-shirt as fingertips moves down toward his waist.

“Yeah, that’s what I would call you. You seen yourself?” Greed pushes his palm against Ling’s cheek, tilting his head face up and brushing his thumb underneath his eye.

“I wouldn’t say I’m bad looking at all but—“ Ling swallows his words as Greed suddenly ducks down and grabs his thighs, hoisting him up and onto his hips. Maybe if Ling was anymore sober his knee jerk reaction would have been to knock Greed out cold, but he only grabs onto his shoulders and lets himself be swung around.

Ling’s back hits the wall at the end of the restroom. His legs are kept locked around Greed’s waist by palms spread wide and fingers digging into the meat of his thighs through the soft denim. Ling is only given a glimpse of a smirk before he is pressed flush against Greed’s chest. A hot, wet tongue licks up his neck, swipes up his jaw and drags him into a kiss. It’s disgusting, messy and so hideously tacky in that over enthusiastic way, and Ling loves every moment of it.

Grabbing him by the sides of his head, Ling kisses Greed with such need he feels their teeth clack and Greed whimper as Ling bites his lip. He squeezes his legs around Greed when he feels a hand shift toward his ass and rake fingers across the taut fabric. Ling grabs a handful of hair, an ear, twisting the collar of the tight T-shirt.

Maybe with a little more dignity, or a whole lot more drinks, Ling would have pushed aside Greed’s hands and allowed himself be dropped to the floor. With a hand in his hair and eyes those dark eyes staring down, he would’ve stayed on his knees on the dirty tiles, the door left unlocked.

Ling stiffens and jerks back from Greed’s hands. His heartbeat and the breathing against his ear deafen him. His vision sways, not seeing the contours of the face before him.

Slowly, Ling’s feet touch the floor as Greed lets go of his legs. A palm covers his cheek, nudging him to look up.

“Hey, you okay there?”

Before Greed can repeat himself, Ling asks him, “Am I an intruder?”

Though taken aback, Greed only drops his hands to Ling’s shoulders. “Sorry—What?”

“Am I intruding,” Ling tries again. “With you and Ed. In your life. I feel like I’ve stepped into somewhere I might not belong.”

Greed looks above Ling and around him, mouth hanging open – struggling between a frown and an attempt at words. He scratches the back of his head, trying to think. “Is—“ He looks up at Ling, concerned, nervous. “Are you still thinking about that night when I told you to come in?”

Ling gives him a hard look.

“Oh Christ.” Greed sinks back. “You still think that you intruded on us.” He looks sheepish, but doesn’t back down. “Look,” he says, tugging the sleeve of Ling’s t-shirt. “If neither of us wanted you there, Ed would’ve already kicked you square in the jaw and broken at least ten of your bones. I would’ve never asked you to come in if I didn’t want to get you on that bed.”

Ling leans back against the wall, keeping his eyes pinned somewhere at the level of Greed’s collarbone. It’s a good view.

“Fuck’s sake, come here—“ Greed drags Ling forward with a hand on the back of his neck and kisses him, solid and warm, so firm like he is trying to press in all the words which keep cutting off in his throat when he speaks.

Still unwilling to sleep, Ling stays past closing. He is lying in a booth under two coats, his and Greed’s, when he is pulled by his ankle toward the floor. He wakes up slowly, grimacing at Greed, but he lets himself be pulled up. Huddling under the coats, he follows him out from the basement bar into the predawn street.

They don’t speak much, besides Ling asking for the heating to be turned on in the car before he slumps on the backseat. He lets the car rock him under the cover of the coats, barely aware of the turns in the street and the pauses at the lights.

When Ling is awake again, they are under the apartment building. The sky is just as dark, the streetlights are still on. Ling sticks his arms out toward the open car door for Greed to pull him out.

“Lazy rat,” Greed mumbles, but helps him out of the car and then up the apartment steps.

The heating has been running all night, but the floors are still cold. Ling can’t hear what Greed is telling him as he is sat on the edge of the couch and his boots are being pulled off his feet. Ling’s head sways when the tie is pulled out of his hair. Fingers pushes through the roots, nails scratch his scalp, making him moan and lean in.

His jeans are lost on the bedroom floor before Ling is pushed underneath the layers of sheets and blankets. He rolls over, feeling a soft shoulder press underneath his cheek. He drags an arm over Ed and catches their legs together as he breathes in the warm air underneath the blankets.

Buckles, rough denim, coins, and maybe a bracelet, drop on the floor. The metal frame of the bed rocks and squeaks. Ling hears Greed move on the bed, lifting the covers and fitting behind him. The blancets drop as Greed slots his forehead against Ling’s back. His hands drag up the hem of Ling’s T-shirt, finding finding spaces between his ribs for his fingers.

  
It must be past noon when Ed sits down on the bed in his outdoor clothes, coat unbuttoned and hat off, but his movements still stiff – like he had come out of the cold only recently. He sits two mugs on the floor beside the bed as he drinks out of the third. It has the old college logo and coffee drip stains running down the side.

Ling looks out from under the covers with one eye, face covered by hair. There is breathing against his neck, an arm caught around his chest under the t-shirt.

He reaches out a hand to poke between the folds of denim on Ed’s knee and whispers, “Good morning.”

Ed flinches, but doesn’t move away. “Hey,” he says before drinking the last dregs from his mug and sitting it onto the floor. “You were gone all night.”

“Sorry, it was a full moon.” Ling snickers at the glare snapped onto him.

Ed sighs. “Greed woke up an hour ago, for a bit, and told me what happened.”

Ling’s smirk drops. He look down at the edge of the layered sheets and pinches his lips.

“Look,” Ed tells him, leaning in. “I’m not good at this. You know the— affection. Even Greed says I’m as useless as a block of shit.”

Ling watches Ed drops his chin into his hand and groan as he thinks for a moment. The hazel-golden eyes turn back to him.

“I’m glad you’re here, you moron.” There is determination in Ed’s eyes which makes Ling swallow any contradicting response. “I’m glad that Lan Fan brought you to my doorstep. You got it? I’m keeping you in this place and in this bed as long as you are willing to stay.”

For a long second, Ling just stares. Then, biting on his smile, he nods. Ed grins and snatches Ling’s hand into his own.

“Okay, good. I don’t want you having those stupid ideas again, ‘kay?”

“Sure.”

A kiss is quickly pressed to Ling’s cheek through his hair before Ed is setting off again, his heavy platformed boots stomping in the apartment.

“God, that took him a while to choke up.” Greed’s arms tighten around Ling as his legs push up behind his own, catching Ling in a tight lock of limbs. “I’ll have to do something nice for him after that.”

“Like what? I don’t think he appreciated the last time I bought him socks. He is a useless minimalist.”

“Who says I’ll buy something.”

Lips press to Ling’s neck as his hair is brushed away from his face. Ling ducks back under the covers, muffling his laughter as Ed reappears in the bedroom – undressed from the boots and coat.

“Are you two going to be in bed all day or something?” Ed jumps back onto the mattress, shaking the bed, and throws back the covers to drop over Ling and Greed.

Elbows and knees jab as Ed is wrangled down and held in a headlock by Ling, legs still kicking and aiming to bruise. He shrieks when Greed falls over him and yanks up his sweater to blows a raspberry on Ed’s stomach, and finally collapses limp.

* * *

“So how did Greed end up with you here?”

A slab of pancake falls off Ed’s fork into the puddle of syrup on his plate. It’s his meagre second serving to Ling’s fifth. But it’s still early morning and neither of them have appetite yet.

Ed stares down at his empty fork and sighs. “My car broke down on a road in the middle of nowhere. He was going past. Picked me up.” He raises his brows at Ling. “I told you about it.”

“No, there has to be more to this.” Ling leans over the table with his chin in his hands, careful of the cups and pot of syrup. “Come on, I’m waiting.”

Ed pouts and reaches for his coffee, but it’s snatched away. He looks away with a scowl.

“What makes a guy run across state lines after someone, huh?” Ling hums, following Ed’s stare out of the window at the busy morning city road. “Was it a really good fuck on the backseat in the woods, or something?”

Ed immediately goes red, gritted teeth bared. “You—“ he hisses, glaring at Ling. “YOU—!” Then, he crosses his arms and sits back – leaving the fork to clatter on the plate.

“That’s not a no. So, am I right?”

The dragging silence makes Ling consider not prodding further. But then Ed tells him, “It was his family. He was just— you know. Driving to leave. I was there by coincidence. He stuck around with me for a while until I had to go back home and I asked him if he wanted to come.” He looks sour, picking at the crumbs on the plate. “Just… Bad people. Bad family. A very bad ex.”

“I understand,” Ling says, propping his feet between Ed’s knees on the seat as he sits back. It makes Ed look up and frown.

“You never explained why you are here. Lan Fan never said anything.”

“That’s because I never asked her to. Like you said. Bad family.”

The defensive look on Ed’s face drops. For a moment, he looks raw with sympathy. “I’m—“

“Don’t do us the disservice,” Ling interrupts, “by being sorry over something that is in the past.”

Ed flinches, but nods.

Cold air rushes into the diner with a fine speckling of snow as the door opens. Ling turns at the clack of heeled boots and grins up at Greed. He is at their table in several steps, looming in the only winter overcoat he owns with an obnoxious furred hood – stupidly similar to Ed’s.

He looks between Ling and Ed. His grey face has some color from the cold. “I feel like I’m interrupting something,” he mutters.

“No—o, besides Ed being a secretive tart,” Ling says with a gleaming smile. He gets kicked under the table in the thigh.

“Right,” Greed nods, “so on which fucking side am I meant to sit?”

“Next to Ed, please!” Ling quickly directs him. “I have a question I need to ask you both.”

After conferring in a glance with Ed, Greed sits down.

“I want you two to be honest with me.” Ling pulls a serious expression, looking down across the table. “When you met,” he pauses with a sigh, “did you fuck on the backseat of the car in the woods?”

“Well—“ Greed’s response is silenced by Ed’s screech and a hand slamming over his mouth. He tugs it down by the wrist and tries again, “Y—“ Ed’s hand slaps back over his face, evidently almost getting fingers into his mouth. Greed solemnly nods.

“O-oh!” Ling gawks at Greed and Ed’s furious face. “I need to get a visual of this.”

“Tits to the wind, feet to the ceiling,” Greed manages to grit out between Ed’s fingers.

Ling leans in. “Him or—You?”

Greed barely manages to point up at himself before Ed yanks him by the hair and wheezes in his face. Greed shrinks back into the collar of his coat, grinning.

“Are we done now?” Ed snaps. “Can we go to Ikea and be done with this bullshit?”

They move to get their coats on and stand from the booth, nudging the table as forks, plates, and cups clatter. Someone pays the bill, car keys clack as they are pulled from a pocket. Ling is shoved by Ed and he ends up wiping out Greed. They barely make it out of the door, elbowing each other out into the December air under the the orange morning sky.

Ed stuffs his hands into Ling’s pockets and Greed shrinks back into his own coat and hood. Ling is lodged between their shoulders, grumbling and nudging, and somehow comfortable. He zones out somewhere during the argument about the color of the new armchairs and the number of duvets, letting their voices become white noise. For once, he feels content.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ling was right: they did fuck on the backseat

_One year and a half ago_

Rocks run down the foothill, bumping on the ledges of outcrops before landing in the thorned bushes. Ed adjusts the camera strap around his neck and swings his bag over his hip. He looks down where the rocks fell, squinting through the desert sunlight. It burns across his nose and chin – adding another layer of tan to the skin.

Dust rises on the slope as Ed runs down with the decline, grabbing the rough, dry grass to brake the speed he has gained. His clothes are stuck to him with the sweat, his right foot hurts from the toes being jammed up against the nose of the shoe and the left is starting to ache in the socket from the pressure of the climb. The stagnant breeze would have brought some relief if he wore sandals and shorts, but he thanks himself for packing the trekking gear every time the thorned dry bark of the low shrubs catches on the rough fabric of his pants and the sun burns above the collar of the jacket.

On an outcrop of flat rock jutting out from the grass, Ed pauses and looks down at the flatlands in the distance. The boundary of the crop fields is just barely visible: the squares of yellow and green wheat fields are lying flat against the ground under the dust smoked pale sky, glinting like water. Ed holds up the camera against his eye, adjusting the manual focus of the lens. Though the camera is borderline vintage and would be better off as the focus of an aesthetically orchestrated photo, it’s doing a miraculous job of capturing the monoculture decimating the landscape. His equipment must follow the specifications given by his job: it must be analogue and without the capacity of storing the data internally; nothing with the connection to the internet is safe and every possible step must be taken to disable the chance of him being tracked and the photos transferred. No backup data should be saved until it has been acquired by his employers.

The windshields of the terragators gleam in the sun as weedkiller is sprayed over the parched soil. Ed turns sharply with the camera still poised and snaps a picture of the hill’s incline; It just makes a good photo.

Below the hills, in the dried river valley, Ed’s jeep with faded green paint scraped off the sides is parked on the gravel edge of the road. The air inside has been cooked to the point of blistering and is unbearable to breathe. Falling behind the wheel, Ed licks the sweat off his lip as he dumps his equipment on the passenger seat and climbs into the back.

The boots drop underneath the seats and the dust clumped pants are balled with the t-shirt. Ed winces as he drags on the jeans and long sleeved button up khaki shirt. For once, the vans, which he wears for the sake of keeping up the appearance of a vegan agenda droning hipster, are not so bad.

Falling back behind the wheel, Ed unfolds a map on the passenger seat. The contours of mountains and the tracks of roads unravel with the lines of pen and scratched in notes. Ed pins the paper to the seat with a baseball cap, a novelty notepad, and a month old bag of trail mix. He realises that he will have to make a stop at a point of civilisation to find a printing kiosk and then post the new photos back to the apartment to start sorting them as soon as he is back. Otherwise, Mustang will send one of his minions again to breathe down his neck while watching him file the photos of the agricultural machinery and the military facilities out from the trail pictures and the occasional mountain goat.

Rocks skip out from under the tires as Ed turns the car onto the road and drives into the valley.

  
The GPS on his phone is disabled and any mapping app has been firmly kept out of the minimal internal storage collection. He doesn’t trust the GPS as much as he doesn’t trust emailing, or file sharing. Even Al agreed that his paranoia is reasonable. But maybe at least one satellite map would have been a good idea now.

Rain is running down the windows as Ed holds the map to his nose. He peeks around the edge of the paper at the water logged mud road lit by the headlamps. The corn stalks shiver in the wind which brings a new wave of rain. The roads in the cornfields do not coincide with the map. Ed had pushed on, hoping to find signs, or at least a building with an address, but the dark came and nothing appeared between the stalks.

Ed dumps the map and pushes on the gas. The car rocks and drops onto its side as it passes through a trough of rain water. Ed wheezes through his teeth when the car safely emerges on the relatively stable ground; though his prosthetics have been made to endure dust, rain, the cold and the heat, he doesn’t want to find out what Winry will do to him if he is stranded with a medical emergency in the form of fried nerves after getting out and trying to push the car out of the mud. He might as well lay down in a puddle and let himself drown in two inches of water.

The car shudders as it tries to find traction. Ed leans forward in his seat, trying to see over the front of the jeep and the pouring rain. His hand slips on the wheel when the corn stalks shift against the pull of the wind, like something barrelled against the border of the crop field just to take a glance into the glare of the headlamps. But there is nothing there as the car passes.

Ed doesn’t know the likelihood of wild animals that could be of danger in the farmlands. But the dogs that are left to sleep outside and patrol the territory are not something he is willing to take lightly. The times he and Al had barely got away from the packs of guard dogs by scaling fences and trees when they were barely teenagers are enough for him.

There is a flash at the end of the mud causeway. Ed halts the car and stares. The windscreen wipers squeak erratically across the glass. The pinprick of light hovers in the dark, twitching and shuddering in the rain. Slowly, it takes the shape of a bulb in a flashlight held toward the ground.

Ed flashes the headlamps as the car rolls forward. The light skims over mud caked boots dragging through the sludge of the road and the hem of a heavy raincoat spattered in dirt. Ed locks the doors and keeps both hands braced on the steering wheel.

A pale, red knuckled hand in a ratty black glove with cut off fingers clicks the button on the flashlight, extinguishing the bulb as the jeep pulls close to the trudging figure.

Ed rolls down the window by a crack and calls out through the seam, “Hey! Do you live here?”

The hooded figure turns, showing an ashen face with a bored, almost disappointed, frown. Long wet hair is spilling over the face and out of the collar of the black raincoat. It almost looks green in colour.

“And what’s that got to do with you?” the person grunts.

Ed pulls on a naïve smile and chirps, “I think I took the wrong turn a couple of hours ago. I’m just trying to get to my Airbnb. Could you direct me toward a major road?”

The corners of the frown drag up in a grin which reminds Ed of how a dog’s lips curl in a scowl.

“Oh you poor thing,” the stranger drawls. “You must’ve been driving in circles for hours.” They lean in toward the window, grey eyes staring through the gap. “Of course I’ll help. Keep going as you are until you reach the first copse. Behind it will be a turn left and at the end there will be a house.”

Ed nods with a wide friendly smile as goose bumps crawl down his back. “Who lives there?”

“Just some locals. This is their land. I’m sure if you knock they won’t mind a kid like you staying for a bit to rest.” The smile twitches as if pulled by a string.

“That’s gotta like all rustic and shit, right? Man that’s gonna look awesome on photos.” Ed’s foot is twitching to press on the gas, but he talks easy. “I think I’ll take you up on that offer.”

The stranger shrugs. “You will drive into the swamps if you fall asleep behind the wheel.” They smile.

“Thank you so much for the advice!” Ed cheers stiffly and stomps on the gas. He falls back in the seat and stares ahead with wide eyes.

He keeps driving down the straight mud road, not as quickly as he wants to out of the fear of gutting the car on the ditches worn out in the ground. He looks at the rear view mirror, adjusting it to see further down the road in the red tail lights, but he doesn’t see the figure in the raincoat. Maybe it’s the rain, distorting the shadows.

Ed leans to the left, trying to see more of the road behind, struggling to keep the car straight. He slumps back, just in time to see the headlamps catch in the reflective base of a flashlight. Ed’s hand jerk on the wheel, but he rights the car, avoiding the rain drenched figure standing on the side of the road. He does not look at it as he passes. Protruding rocks and drifts of solidified mud hit the belly of the car, but Ed keeps driving.

On the right, the causeway dips toward the wall of cornstalks, becoming a branching road. Ed swings the jeep toward it though the path which is barely wide enough for the car pass through. The stalks hit the the windshield and mirrors, clacking on the bonnet and hubcaps, like they will break something if he goes any faster.

Eventually, the adrenaline subsides and logic kicks in. Ed slows the car, deciding that if he keeps up the blind chase he will get more lost – fuck know where with fuck knows who.

The jeep slows down to a crawl as Ed finally lets himself breathe. The car rolls over the rougher road, jolting and canting to the side. The rain is finally slowing, falling like a mist after the heavy downpour. Ed tries to reason that he had overreacted; it’s just his mind getting to him.

The car takes a slow bend through the field, running light across the corn stalks. Ed looks back down the path he had come from. Maybe if he was less paranoid, he would have assumed the shadow is just from the tall crop, but the second glance tells him that the mass moving down the path through the rain is a second car without lights. The reflection of the jeep’s headlamps glances off the stalks on the black paint and glass. Inside, two green sparks flicker for a brief second as the headlamps pass through the rain.

Ed inhales through his teeth and, for the third time in the night, drives for his life. The ground rips up underneath the tires as the chase begins again. Ed steels himself to keeping pressing on the gas as he hears wheels shudder and squeal behind him. The rain hits the windshield, crashing on the glass and running in rapids toward the frame.

The path opens into a graveyard of rusting farming equipment half sunken into the ground, falling apart into masses of scrap metal. Over the peaks of the stalks, the line of the forest is visible – a heavy line of black deeper than the sky.

The border of the crop field drops away but the pursuing car does not stop. Ed frowns with apathy as the head lights hit a figure standing ahead of the jeep on the line of dirt between the forest and the field. He can’t turn back or go toward the swamp terrain of the forest. If he has to die butchered by hill billies, he might as well do it in his style of choice.

Ed fixes the aim of the jeep on the figure washed grey in the light. Their rain spattered face is stark against the black of the field and the forest, indifferent as they wait for the car to crash into them. It seems inevitable.

However, moments before the collision, the figure turns away from the car and steps inches out of the vehicle’s reach. Too late to change the course of its movement.

The side of the jeep strikes across a tree. The car jerks, changing direction, spinning as it is thrown toward the forest. Timber scrapes metal, rubber tears, as the car falls down the sudden decline across roots toward the swamped ground

Glass shatters and half of the wheels spin in the air. A headlamp flicks out. Branches are struck through the windshield, the bonnet is bent out of shape, smoke spits out through the cracks. There is no more movement.

On the edge of the forest, the black Chevrolet runs to a halt. A door is thrown open and the driver looks over the top of the car down at the wreck. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he breathes out.

The man jogs through the rain over to the wreck with his hands in the pockets of his worn through jeans. The flannel shirt tied around his waist waves like a trailing flag. He shudders from the midnight cold as he looks over the edge of the forest down into the swamp.

It’s a short climb down to the smoking jeep that has sunk into the wet, soft earth. With some caution toward the smoke, the man opens the driver’s door and sees Ed hanging forward by his seatbelt, head slack and the airbag deflating. Belongings have been flung through the car: clothing, empty chip bags, balled up notepad pages, and soda cans. However, miraculously, Ed is unharmed.

The man reaches into the car to unclip the seatbelt. He supports Ed’s weight as the lock yanks out and the strap coils back. “All right kid, that was hell of a dumb thing to do,” he mutters as he starts lifting Ed out of the car.

A chrome fist slams into the man’s jaw. He reels back, stumbling out of shock, and drops Ed back onto the seat – half falling out of the car.

The rain rushing through the tree canopy as Ed drops out of the jeep, holding onto the doorframe, blood punched teeth bared at the stranger in the haze of the red tail lights. “Don’t you fucking try that shit again, I’ll break your fucking neck next time,” he warns in a strained voice.

The stranger who is holding onto his bruised face stares at Ed. “_Are you fucking dumb_? You are the one who almost ended up with a broken neck!”

“Because you were fucking chasing me!” Ed swings his right fist again, but the man steps out of the way – still holding onto his jaw.

“I only wanted to warn you that you are headed straight to the swamp,” he explains. “But I guess you ended up there anyway.”

“How was I mean’t to know that!” Ed defends himself, voice breaking. “You were coming after me with all the fucking lights off like some sort of a murderer!”

“Why would I have the lights on? I don’t want the people here to notice shit.”

Smoke sputters from the jeep as Ed scoffs. His head is ringing, the pain sharpened by the cold rain. “Yeah, I met one of those fuckers already. Don’t blame me if it’s difficult to believe you aren’t one of them too.”

The man stares, struck. “Hold on— _Who_ did you meet?”

Ed turns away, climbing back into the car to to assess the damage done to his belongings as he calls back. “That fucker I almost ran through. Did you not see them? That little creep in a raincoat with the flashlight walking on the side of the road.”

Ed does not get a reply as he searches through his car, trying to squint through the dark as he pushes his rain drenched hair out of his face. The cameras are still intact, thank fuck, and all else is disposable. He scoops his clothes into a bag and what things he can find not lost under the seats.

Dropping on his feet out of the car into the rain, he looks at the red silhouetted figure. Though he can’t see the man’s face in the dark of the country night, he can feel the stare.

“That could’ve ended much worse than you think,” the man says, quieter.

Ed feels his shoulders tense and a cold creep down his back. “What is that meant to mean?”

“Nothing.” The stranger shakes his head. “But you need to get out of here and that,” he nods to jeep whose lights finally die, “is going nowhere. So come on and let me drive you out of here without getting into another swamp.”

The rain is soaking through Ed’s thin shirt as his shoes sink into the damp earth. He is cold and his joints are starting to cramp. He sighs with gritted teeth, coming to terms with the fact that he can’t leave the mind numbing maze of crop fields without help.

“No murder attempts?” Ed asks.

The man shrugs. “Don’t get on my nerves and I won’t knock your head in.”

“Alright, fine. Let me just get my shit.”

Underneath the passenger seat, there is a tool and emergency box. Ed grabs the tow rope, dragging the clamps across the carpeted floor.

It’s too dark to aim, but with the wide arc which the metal clamps draw through the air he is due to at least knock out an eye. There is a splutter, feet skidding on the dirt, but no satisfying crack of metal against bone.

“What the FUCK was that for?” the man shouts in offended disbelief.

“Just checking if I can trigger your murderous instincts.” Ed swings the rope over his shoulder and lifts the bags off the ground. “I guess I’ll have to come with you.”

“Don’t worry I’ll ditch you at the first gas station, fucking brat.”

“Right, well, can I get a name to scratch on the ground in blood once you dump my half dead body?”

There is a long, dragging moment before the man replies with an tentative uncertainty, “Just call me ‘Greed’.” Then he adds, “What should the police put on the milk cartons when you go missing?”

Ed’s face twitches as he mutters back, “Jus’ Ed.”

He climbs out of the swamped forest after the stranger and looks back mournfully at the smoking jeep. He will be able to replace it, he knows that, and nothing important was lost in the crash. But it’s another limb of independence which has been cut away.

The black Chevrolet is standing with the door open, the lights on inside, and the engine running on the border of the cornfield. There is no sign of the other weirdo.

The lights shut off as Greed gets behind the wheel and closes the door while Ed stays standing in the rain, staring between the corn stalks. The blare of the horn yanks Ed back into moving. He opens the backseat door and finds the space occupied by bags, like the entire contents of someone’s apartment minus the furniture and the kitchen cutlery were stuffed in a rush and thrown into the car.

After cautiously adding his backpack and camera bags to the pile, Ed turns to the passenger seat and opens the door. Yellow light fills the space within the car as Ed sits down as looks across at the driver. A shiver drags down Ed’s back.

“You’ll probably need painkillers tomorrow after that adrenaline dies down,” Greed tells him. He drags a hand through his short dark hair which hangs damp over his forehead and ears. His bare arms are covered in raindrops and Ed can’t move his eyes away from the way they run down his broad shoulders. It’s better than looking at his face. That face is making Ed want to climb out of the car and back into the mud or over the gearstick and into the next seat while it’s still occupied.

Ed breathes out heavily through his nose and sinks in the seat, shutting the door. The light goes out.

“Why are you here anyway? A school photography project?” Greed turns the car on the damp grass toward the path through the crop field.

“Screw you. I finished grad school,” Ed mutters, sinking deeper.

Greed wheezes a laugh. “Pardon me. Still a photography project?”

“Sure. A project that gets me money.”

Despite the dark, the uneven ground, and the fog from the rain, Greed manoeuvres the car toward the main road through the field. He turns in the direction from which Ed had come, away from the swamps, and drives to the sound of the engine and rain on the windows.

In the sideview mirror, Ed sees the spark of light on the fields. Just a blink before it flickers out.

  
The sun has warmed the car interior and the air conditioning is barely managing to do its job. Ed wakes up with the seatbelt clipped across him and his head mushed into the window frame. His phone is still in his hand, fingers locked around the scuffed case. His shoulders and neck hurt, the joints of his back are cramped and there is a dull pain in the back of his skull.

Swallowing dryly, Ed looks up at the road. The scenery has changed: there are no fields or the dry desert mountains with pale rock, instead the road is surrounded by the reedy red pine trees. The ground is carpeted by needles and saplings competing with ferns for the sun. The rain poured through the night as the country dirt roads continued – never ending and never changing. It was like a delirious dream where the dark took shape in the static hum of the engine and the rain on the glass.

The window rolls down on the driver’s side and Ed glances in the direction. He looks up from the rough knuckled hands on the steering wheel, to the toned arms, and up toward Greed’s somehow smug yet lax expression. Without the rain, his hair stands in random unbrushed spikes, making him look older than the twenty-something he seems to be.

Ed looks away as he sits up and glares down at the cracked tarmac. “Where are we?” he asks.

“Good morning, brat,” Greed mutters looking sideways. He is spread out on the seat with his knees pressed up against the dashboard, lazy like he has a right to everything. “You’ve been out of it for hours. Sorry, I guess, for not checking if you have a concussion.” He laughs.

Ed undoes his seatbelt as he looks over his shoulder onto the backseat, checking his bags are still there. Underneath, the seat upholstery is scuffed with drying mud and the bags with torn seams are covered with dirty handprints. Ed feels himself tense up, sitting rigid in the seat, slowly realising his situation.

“It could have gone worse though,” Greed continues, oblivious. “You managed to meet one of my siblings and that could’ve ended much, much worse.”

Ed’s hand tightens on the door handle. “Your siblings, huh?”

“Sure. You know that fucker had a shotgun under their coat, right? I’m surprised they didn’t try to bust one of the wheels.”

After stress and absence of sleep, judgment can get hazy, but Ed knows the dangers of his work and he knows when things have turned for the worst. He knows when someone is putting on a Good Samaritan show and when its time to throw aside appearances.

“Good old dad really doesn’t like people on his property and he expects them to be cleared out quick.” Greed sighs, still looking ahead. “You bet your ass he likes it even less when people try to run.”

Ed jerks into action: he pulls up his legs and kicks Greed’s arms, taking the second of shock to grab hold of the steering wheel with both hands and yank it in the direction of the edge of the road. Greed tries to throw Ed away from the wheel by grabbing his hair and ripping it aside, shouting something, but Ed can’t hear the words through the thudding in his ears.

There is just enough space to move and for Ed to throw a leg over the gears and jam his foot on the brakes. The car skids, but Ed manages to steer it even as Greed shoves to throw him back onto the passenger seat.

Dust rises from the road, rocks skip and hit the side of the car as it veers and halts. The driver’s side door opens and Greed is thrown out onto the ground. He pushes himself over and rolls aside just as Ed jumps out of the car.

“What in the ever loving fuck are you doing!” Greed shouts as he dodges a metal fist aimed straight down at his face. “Jesus Christ I’m just trying to help you, you fucking brat!”

Ed doesn’t listen; he lifts his foot to the side as Greed attempts to stand and swings his leg in one harsh arc. Greed grabs his ankle with both hands, dropping back into the dust from the force of the kick.

“Wh—“ Greed throws himself aside from another well aimed punch. “What is this even about!”

The steeled expression on Ed’s face tells him nothing as Greed turns to get away. Ed throws himself forward to grab Greed by the collar of his vest, but he loses his footing as his legs are kicked out from underneath him. Ed lands in the dust as Greed grabs him by the scruff of his shirt and shoves him face down. A hand presses onto Ed’s head, crushing his nose into the ground. He screams.

“Alright, can you fucking calm down for a fucking second?” Greed spits down as he presses a knee between Ed’s shoulders. “Honest to fuck I don’t have a clue why you are trying to snap my knee caps.”

Ed breathes into the dust, face obscured by his hair which has come mostly undone from the braid.

“I really, really fucking hate fighting. Now, can I get off you and have a normal conversation, kid?” Greed asks, slowly and unbelievably calmly.

With another heavy sigh, Ed lets himself drop limp.

“We good? You won’t bite a chunk out of me?”

Ed nods against the ground.

“Alright, Christ— Thank you!”

Ed waits for Greed to lift his knee off his back and the hand off his head. Within the split second, Ed twists around underneath Greed, lifts his legs against and kicks him in the chest with both feet.

There is a solid, satisfying crash as Greed falls back. Ed quickly stands and, without any spectacular creativity, kicks Greed in the ribs. But before he can swing his leg back, he is grabbed by the calf and a yank lands his ass on the ground again. However, Ed doesn’t lose the momentum and slams his leg down on Greed’s head.

There is loud, angry cussing as Greed rolls over, holding onto the crown of his head where it hit the rocks. Ed jumps to his feet and runs to the car. He should get the keys and drive, but instead he grabs his backpack off the backseat and shoves his hand into the useless collection of junk. There is no rope, no wire, but a handful of thick zip ties.

Greed is trying to get off the ground, still too slow, when Ed slams his knee to his shoulders and he collapses again. Ed wrenches Greed’s arms behind his back and quickly gathers his wrists in two connected zip ties. The plastic locks together as Greed tries to rip his arms away from Ed, but the second knee comes down against his neck – pinning him down. Dust blows off the ground as Greed curses.

“Did you actually think I would let you get away with this shit?” There is blood and dust in the spit which drips down from Ed’s lip onto the ground. He is breathing hard, but he hardly feels the burn in his lungs. “What kind of idiot am I to believe your Good Samaritan act, huh? You couldn’t even give me a name. I bet you were just having some fun before slitting my throat.”

Greed’s face scrapes on the ground as he tries to look at Ed over his shoulder. There are scratches, from his temple to his lip gathering blood as he squints. “I don’t give a shit what you believe,” he wheezes, “but get off my back or show me some mercy and pull my pants down and fuck me already.”

Ed drops his grip for a split moment and stares. Greed shows no further attempts to fight back as he slumps on the ground, vaguely shifting like he can’t get comfortable.

Ed stands and steps away before swinging back his foot and kicking Greed in the ribs. There is a moan stifled by Greed’s mouth and nose being pressed into the dirt as he twitches and jerks, lifting his hips off the ground and bucking. The sob which comes from him says something other than pain.

“So you don’t actually want to ditch my corpse in a bag outside a gas station,” Ed mutters in disbelief.

“What the fuck do you think I was trying to tell you all this fucking time!” The desperation of Greed’s face is not a lie.

Ed kicks dust up onto Greed as he steps over his back before kneeling down and planting his hands on either side of his shoulders. Greed drops against the ground like Ed’s presence had incapacitated him. “So you aren’t serial killer, or some creep,” he considers as Greed squirms underneath him. “But you did get turned on by me kicking your ass.”

“Now don’t you even fucking dare judge my boner—“

Ed drops to his elbows, letting his chest rest over Greed’s shoulders and bound wrists. He can feel the heat and sweat through the thin fabric of the tank top covering Greed’s back. “What else can I do to apologise to my ‘saviour’ other than helping out in turn.”

The breath is yanked out of Greed when Ed stands and uses his tied wrists to get him up on his feet. Ed kicks the driver’s door closed and pushes Greed up against it, holding him there for a moment, sizing up the difference of height and width between them and scoffing. He can’t believe he beat someone a head a half taller than him that easy.

Ed steps away and opens the backseat door and flings the bags onto the floor, clearing the space. He says nothing when he takes Greed by the front of his top and holds him against the frame of the open door and looks him up and down. Greed raises his brows, curling his lips in a smile which shows teeth.

“I’m not letting you keep this,” Ed tells him before taking the folded knife in the back pocket of his jeans and flipping out the blade. He shows a cruel smirk, yanks tight the front of Greed’s tank top, and puts the knife to the taut black fabric. It tears with the flick of the blade and Ed feels Greed bow in toward him as he yanks the shreds off his shoulders and cuts off the straps. Really, it ridiculous how Ed has any control left not to collapse drooling as he stares at the bare skin of Greed’s toned chest.

There is no effort needed to make Greed fall back onto the seat and open his legs as Ed kneels over him. There is dust on Greed’s face, mixing with the blood from the scrapes. His shoulders look bruised too. It’s a good look.

“Getcha shirt off too.” Greed pushes Ed with his knee. “That shit isn’t fair.”

“You don’t get a fucking say in this, moron,” Ed tells him, twisting the skin on Greed’s taut stomach and smirking at the hiss. Ed lets his hand wander, pressing against Greed’s chest, indulging in feeling up the thick muscle. “Losers who hand their ass over don’t get shit.”

Greed scoffs and looks away with a grin, red in the face. “Yeah, I guess I did hand my ass over, but I don’t mind.” He shifts his hips up, like he is inviting Ed closer.

Ed drags the tip of his pocket knife down the inside of Greed’s thigh, watching him shiver and scowl. He scrapes the metal on the seams, coming closer to the seat of the jeans.

“I’m not doing this dry,” Ed tells him, suddenly. “I’m not trying to get a fucking rug burn.” He taps the knife against the zipper of Greed’s jeans as his stomach shakes with laughter. “And I’m not taking my chances,” he adds.

“What? Do you think I’m an amateur?” Greed scoff with the best nonchalance he can fake while handcuffed and spread out on the backseat of a car. “Check the glovebox, fuck face.”

Ed shoves aside his leg and climbs between he front seats. Empty gum wrappers, receipts, and blister packaging from what might have been a flashlight or a tamagotchi fall out before Ed has his hands full with a spool of condoms and a bottle of lube in his teeth. He sits back on the rear seat, effectively crushing Greed’s stomach with his ass, and spits the bottle in his face.

“Am I meant to pretend this isn’t suspicious?” Ed asks as he arranges himself back between Greed’s legs.

“Think whatever the fuck you want,” Greed whines. “Just fuck me already.”

“Shut the hell up or I’ll ditch you like this.”

“But that’s mea—“

Greed swallows on his tongue when Ed grabs hold of the waistband of his jeans, drags him toward himself and zips open the fly. Ed presses over him to get a better grip of the waistband and pull it down.

“Is that the knife or are you really happy to see me?” Greed sounds strained as Ed’s knuckles press into his hips as he drags down his jeans.

Ed sighs and reaches into a front pocket and waves the switch blade in front of Greed. Then, the knife flicks out again and presses against Greed’s jaw as Ed leans down, bracing his free hand against Greed’s chest, and shows his bare teeth to Greed’s smirk.

“Come on then, you brat,” Greed spits and goes to lean up, but Ed presses the blade against his lips – stopping him with just a fine cut.

“Now stay the fuck down,” Ed tells him before throwing himself back into action.

There is no time to yank the boots off Greed’s feet or to struggle in the cramped space with the rest of his clothes. His jeans and the tight black washed out underwear are yanked off just past his ass. Ed almost feels dizzy as he sees his hands against the bare skin, sliding under the denim, scratching red lines down from Greed’s thighs to his ass. He can’t help but hit, just once, across a cheek to watch the skin flush and hear the startled moan.

Lube drips onto the seat, fat globs running down the fabric as Ed laughs at Greed’s goading for him to go quicker. He shoves a boot away from his face as Greed clicks his tongue at him like he is calling a dog, telling him to get his ‘cute’ face closer. Ed grabs one of Greed’s legs under the knee and pushes it down against his chest.

Complaints are swallowed by a moan as Greed closes his eyes and drops his head back, finally satisfied. Ed flushes down to his neck as he watches two fingers of his left hand sink into Greed, right to the last knuckles, palm pressed up between his legs. Greed almost seems to relaxes after finally being filled up with fingers fucking him open and lube running down his skin.

“Fuck,” Greed sighs, looking up hazily at the ceiling. “That’s right— Keep going.”

The boot soles scrape on the frame of the door behind Ed as he starts fucking Greed on his fingers, watching him react to the lazy thrusts. It’s difficult to keep a level head while Greed, with his legs strained by his pants and his back forced into an arch by his tied wrists, rocks back against Ed’s hand. He feels his mouth drop open as Greed grinds down his hips, trying to fuck himself thoroughly.

Ed dodges the leg pressing up against the ceiling beside his head as Greed breathes out, “I’m gonna need more than that, brat.”

Ed swallows down the urge to spit on Greed’s face, make him filthier than he is already, scratch down from his face down to his chest and watch him wince. Instead, he grabs him by the hair and shoves his face sideways into the seat while thrusting fingers into him harshly and then pressing up the fingertips. His chest fills with amusement when he feels the strained whine against the hand covering Greed’s face and the shuddering twitches running up his body.

The air in the car is tight with humidity. Greed’s panting is filling the space and the sound of liquid running over skin. The buckle of a belt clicks and a zipper runs down. Ed flicks the empty condom packet at Greed’s face, making him laugh breathlessly. His hands are tacky with lube as he bites his tongue and leans over him. With one hand pushing apart Greed’s legs, Ed presses his cock inside him. It barely takes any effort to fill Greed out.

Metal scratches against glass as Ed presses his palms to the window. He stares down between his arms at Greed’s satisfied, flushed face pinched in a scowl. Legs lock behind Ed’s back, dragging him flush against Greed’s ass. Sweat damp fabric rubs and pinches as the sound of wet skin meeting skin fill the space between them. Greed urges Ed to rock into him, muttering for him to move, to fuck him good.

Ed licks his teeth under Greed’s stare and tears his hands away from the glass to take hold of Greed’s legs and roughly bend them forward, punching the breath out of him. Ed draws back his hips, watching the expression change of Greed’s face as he pulls out. The seat creaks and the car rocks as Ed slams back into him. The clap of bare skin echoes the satisfied moans.

The whole car seems to shift and groan as Greed is held down in place on the backseat and fucked. His back is bent at a painful angle, tied hands making it impossible to lean his entire weight into the seat, knees pressed into his shoulders as Ed forces him to bend with the force of his thrusts.

“Is that enough for you?” Ed breathes out as he shifts his grip on Greed’s legs. “Hard enough for you? Do you want me to scruff you up maybe?”

“Well I won’t mind you choking me, kiddo—“ Greed breaks off when Ed presses down on him with his whole weight, grinding their hips together. “Pull my hair, bite my neck. You know—All that shit.”

Ed rolls his eyes and ignores him, letting Greed’s legs drop. It’s difficult to breathe in the car and sweat is sticking to clothes unbearably. Ed presses down on the collar of his shirt and the buttons slip out of the well worn through holes.

“_Holy fuck_,” Greed whines as Ed shrugs off his shirt. “Can you please fucking get the ties off my hands so I can put them on you? Pretty please?”

Ed considers with an absentminded hum, like he isn’t aching to grind back against Greed’s ass. “I don’t know, maybe when I’m done with you.” He pretends not to show pride when Greed stares in absolute distraction at the bright chrome arm which hefts one of his legs onto the flesh and metal shoulder. “Unless you’re gonna pass out right after.”

Greed’s head thumps back against the door as he whines and kicks his feet above Ed’s head. The sound that comes from him when a hand is pressed down onto his throat is too happy. Ed grabs Greed’s sharp jaw and pushes two fingers into his mouth. He can feel the sharp inhales and stuttering breaths as he fucks Greed, quick and rough before switching to slow and deep, letting Greed get enough of the feeling of being filled with cock.

Spit runs down Greed’s chin as fingers scraped red by teeth drag out of his mouth. “Fuck you—“ he wheezes. “Oh you— Fucking—Fuck you!”

“Maybe next time,” Ed laughs, grinning at the disbelief he sees on Greed’s face.

It’s the pressure on his throat and the metal fingertips scraping down his chest which make Greed lose his coherency. His eyes start watering and the flush pours down from his face, down his shoulders, to his chest, and over his stomach. Ed is over him on his elbows and knees, pressed so close against his overheated skin, when he feels him shudder.

Ed holds himself on shaking arms, dizzy with the heat, as he watches Greed’s face slacken. Bizarrely, he is impressed by how wound up Greed was; this is all it took to break him.

“You gonna pass out?” Ed tries to sound at ease as he flicks his half undone braid over his shoulder. “I’m not done.”

Greed moans as he rubs his face on his shoulder, like he is dying to scrape his hands across it. “You fucking wish.” He looks up with bleary grey eyes. “Gimme all you’ve got.”

With a confused groan from Greed, Ed pulls out and lets his legs drop to the sides. He climbs over his hips, hands braced against the window frame as he settles his knees underneath Greed’s bent arms. He will have to make this quick; even the look of how Greed is lying is getting painful.

Under Greed’s dazed stare, he rolls of the condom and flicks it off aside somewhere toward the door. Greed doesn’t seem to have any complaints; his eyes are fixed on Ed’s fist squeezing around his cock with lube still running down his fingers. He sighs, imagining what it would be like to use Greed’s mouth, or to sit back on his lap – take as good as he gave.

Greed swallows hard, alert now, twitching to sit up. Ed pushes down on his chest with his prosthetic hand, pressing in his fingertips in warning.

“Come on,” Greed mutters. “That’s so not fucking fair. You look good enough to eat.”

Ed smirks. “Told you: Next time.” He closes the metal hand around Greed’s throat, squeezing just to see him swallow hard and his grey eyes go glassy. The moan it earns him sends a hot rush down his spine.

The heat is unbearable and the feeling of sweat sticky skin against skin is filthy, but Ed lets himself drop forward, forehead against Greed’s collarbone. He is pushed forward by legs pressing up against his ass, trying to hold him closer to Greed. There is tongue and teeth against the shell of Ed’s ear, filth whispered through his moans. Ed sigh through gritted teeth as his hand is covered in cum.

The pulse in his head muffles whatever Greed is saying. Ed tries to calm his breathing, forcing himself to exhale through his nose. A nudge to his forehead makes Ed flinch and the solid body underneath him shudders with laughter.

“I know you would rather break my jaw,” Greed mumbles into the top of Ed’s head, breathing into his hair, “but can you please cut those zip ties off my wrists – I can’t feel my arms.”

Ed takes his time getting up, cleaning his hand off on the pant leg of Greed’s jeans before zipping up his fly. Then, he finds his shirt and throws it on the front seat before finally considering helping Greed up.

They are both covered in cum and lube as Ed has to reach over Greed’s shoulders and have his chin against his neck as he cuts the zip ties with the pocket knife. As soon as the plastic snaps, there are arms around Ed’s waist, holding him against Greed’s bare chest. He panics and grabs hold of his shoulders to push himself away, but Greed holds him steady. The feeling of his arms around him is almost too good.

“Oh I’m absolutely keeping you now,” Greed breathes against Ed’s lips, squeezing him tighter with a hand underneath Ed’s ass.

Snarling, Ed opens his mouth to reply, but the groan from his stomach interrupts him.

Greed leans back and stares down at Ed’s stomach. He prods it with a finger. “Can you not fucking interrupt this tender moment?”

The smell of hot donuts blows from the concession trailer down the crumbled shoulder of the roadside cutting through a forest outcrop in the midst of fields. A sprinkling of cars stands in the sun and trash rolls across the ground. It’s as close as it gets to the middle of nowhere with a tiny accidental oasis of roadside food.

There is dust and woodsmoke on the wind. Ed looks up at the sun through the round sunglasses he found in the glovebox, leaning back on his elbows propped up on the hood of the Chevrolet, trying to gauge the direction of the smoke. His legs hang off the bonnet, changed into the last pair of jeans he has packed, kicking the front of the car. He has no clean shirts left to spare, but that’s fine; it’s soon time for him to go home anyway. Al will be there, hopefully without the ugly, stump tailed cat smuggled indoors.

Fingertips skip up the hot metal toward the polystyrene box of demolished fries and Ed slams his right hand over the fingers. “Fuck off, those are mine,” he snaps, without looking at the culprit. “Got it?”

Greed drags his hand out from underneath Ed’s, muttering under his breath about thankless kids.

Ed looks across at him over the rims of the sunglasses, eyes narrow. After the incident on the backseat, they spent half an hour trying to get dressed and shove things back into the car. It would have been quicker if Ed didn’t have to keep extracting Greed’s hands from down the back of his pants. He started wishing he kept Greed’s wrists tied after two large palms kept finding themselves on his chest and a looming figure behind him. The fucker took advantage of his height to trying enveloping Ed entirely in his arms and crowd him against the car. But Greed got his place shown with some kicks to his ass.

Ed rolls over onto his stomach, feeling the hot metal through the thin t-shirt as he lands closer to Greed. He looks down at him with a cigarette hanging dejectedly between his lips. He is wearing that flannel shirt again, unbuttoned.

Ed reaches up and takes the cigarette out of Greed’s mouth and places it in his own. He stares over the rim of the sunglasses at Greed as he inhales deeply and lets the smoke escape into Greed’s face as he breathes out. He doesn’t cough or twist his face up, just stares at Ed with lazily lidded eyes.

Maybe Ed should have told Greed to keep his distance, shoved him away, but he lets him lean in, stealing the cigarette back, and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Then, the landscape snaps back into focus as Greed pulls away and asks, “I’m gonna have to apologise that I took you for some hipster idiot. I have no idea what you were trying to do out there but I’m gonna conclude it wasn’t filming a vlog.”

“That’s the point,” Ed says. “Nobody gives two fucks about a wannabe eco warrior with two corn chips for brains trespassing on private property. ‘I swear sir, I just want to take a picture with the pretty sunflowers’!”

Greed chokes on his laughter, almost dropping the cigarette. “So who taught you to fight like a feral rat?”

“My chemistry professor.”

“No. You are fucking with me.”

Ed scoffs and leans back against the car hood, closing his eyes. “When Izumi heard about my job straight out of grad school she decided that I need to hold my own. Like I couldn’t already.”

“And what job is that?”

Ed cracks open an eye. “You think I’ll tell any hill billy I meet? Fuck off.”

“Mmm. You better get the story straight cuz I’m gonna hear it after I’ve stuck around for long enough.” Greed turns and puts his elbows on the hood, looking down at Ed as he smokes.

“You want to stick around?”

“Yeah. I’ve got nowhere to go. Told father dearest to fuck off, I’m not gonna be running those dogs in the fields for him anymore. Told the sibs I’m checking out of the place, and drove off. Got no home, no job, no nothing. Not even my dogs. Might as well keep an eye on you.”

Ed doesn’t know what to make of the offer; everything about Greed is odd, maybe not odder than him, and nothing is lining up right. A decent fuck on the backseat of the car can’t be enough for him to decide he wants to trail after Ed for the fun of it.

“Well…” he mutters up at the sky. “I’ve got no car to drive back home across state lines and no money to get a flight. You could drive me back and see how long it’s gonna be until you get bored.”

The smirk Greed gives him is infectious. It makes Ed shrink back as he tries to keep down a grin.

“Careful, I might just stay around.”

“Sounds like a fun risk. I’ll take it.”

The air filled with the smell of burned sugar and smoke leaves Ed’s chest with laughter as Greed pulls him up by the front of his t-shirt.

* * *

_Now_

Winter comes with deep aches in the base of the bone, migraines, and stilted moods. Ed wishes Greed was there to pick him up the from the airport, but he would rather have the taxi driver who doesn’t know when to stop talking than let Greed drag himself out of bed with barely a night’s worth of sleep. Ling had offered to skip class to meet him, but Ed hissed at him until he promised to attend all the seminars.

Ed cinches the hood of his sweater underneath the coat and crosses his arms, letting the car sway him on the backseat as the taxi takes him home. The mid afternoon February sun is pale, almost white, burning through every shadow on the city streets. It’s been a long week with barely any results to show. Frustration after frustration, but there is nothing Ed can do about it now. He gave his best effort. If his boss doesn’t like it he can swallow and choke on it.

Relief is an ache when the street of white apartment buildings is visible through the taxi’s windshield. Ed drags himself out of the car onto the frozen sidewalk, wincing through the migraine sitting behind his eyes and temples as he walks to the door. He isn’t sure who will be home; his phone died yesterday night as he was setting up camp on the roof of a train yard building. He had to get up in the night and walk in circles to avoid freezing over. He finally slept in the early morning until the sun and the passing freight trains shaking the ground woke him up.

The steps to the top floor of the building take the last of Ed’s energy. His hands are trembling as he unlocks the door and almost sobs in relief when it opens to the familiar room. His duffle bag drops off his shoulder, hitting the floor hard. He only has the strength to peel off his boots and unzip his coat before stumbling to the couch and sitting down – careful to avoid moving his head.

Then, it’s too difficult to shift again. Ed looks through the cracks of his eyes at the apartment. There are three painted pots with spider plants in descending order standing against the blank wall filled with sunlight. Someone had trimmed the plantlets which started to drooping over the edges of the pots. The mail boxes he had left under the coffee table are gone and the new TV screen has been set up with the game consoles.

It must have been snowing here too; there is ice on the window frames and icicles hanging on the railing of the balcony which has been kept closed the entire winter. Ed wonders if the heating had been forgotten on or if it was intentional; Greed is never cold while he sleeps and Ling is too conscious of the bills.

The thoughts see Ed off to sleep with his nose in the collar of his hoodie.

  
It’s the smell of cooking and the too close mutter of voices which wake Ed up again. He is so warm it’s almost uncomfortable, so drowsy his eyelids try to sink closed.

Colors echo across the room. Ed watches the TV through his eyelashes as figures flash in a combination of actions in response to the furious tapping coming from somewhere on the floor. The lump of warmth shifts in his lap and his eyes finally open.

The light is gone outside but the lamps have been left on low around the living room. The cutscene of a game runs across the TV screen as Greed leans back on his hands on the floor, dressed in old sweatpants and a knitted turtleneck, sleep wrung hair hanging in his eyes. He is looking somewhere beside Ed, talking so low his words can only be read by his lips.

When Ed feels the reply next to his ear, he realises the weight in his lap is not a pillow or a throw, but Ling’s legs folded over him. His chin is above Ed’s head on the backrest, a hand across his chest – playing with a string of his hoodie.

Ed shifts his legs, nudging Greed’s shoulder with his socked foot, pushing him forward before his ankle is caught. Holding it, Greed turns and presses his face into Ed’s calf. He nuzzles into it like a cat rubbing to mark.

“You gonna keep sleeping?” Ling asks, trying not to pitch voice above a whisper.

Ed thinks a moment as he considers the ice cream and narwal print of Ling’s pyjama pants. Then he mumbles, “I can’t sleep if your bony ass gives me paper cuts.”

Greed is stifling his cackling over the PS2 controller. “Want me to replace him?”

“Nah, I don’t want crushed bones too.”

“To bed?” Ling asks. He is settling like a cat on a new pillow, sticking his socked feet between Ed’s thighs. “You might be more comfortable without the coat.”

“Nah,” Ed repeats. “I want to watch Greed’s ass get kicked by an algorithm. You know, it’s like one of those videos. What’s smarter: a chihuahua or windows XP—“ He breaks off with a yawn.

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Ling complains. “You can’t—“

“Hey, don’t argue with a certified genius,” Greed mumbles from the floor, focused on the game. “His vision is beyond us.”

The gears are audibly turning in Ling’s head as he holds out a hand in a exclamation he is struggling to phrase. Ed can picture the stumped expression on his stupid face; Ling always gets a furious squint when he can’t decide if someone is fucking with him or if he should start rolling up his sleeves. Ed would laugh if everything didn’t ache so much.

Greed’s head falls against his knee, comfortably settling there as Ling stands – muttering that he will get dinner. His head still hurts, he is still tired, but Ed feels lighter. He reaches out and pulls his fingers through Greed’s hair, feeling him lean in, while Ling’s voice is at his back. Ed closes his eyes, deciding to sleep a while longer. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay this is the last one i swear. I’m not adding to this fic again 
> 
> Warning; greed is soft

The gutters are full with sleet, like a joke after a promise of spring showers. The night feels cold, and yet so damp its like rot is growing in the lungs. Greed shudders as he stands in the doorway of the bar, the overhang of the basement entrance keeping him sheltered. The cigarette hangs from his mouth like he has forgotten about it.

The handle of the bar’s door squeaks as it turns. Martel and Dolcetto with coat collars to their ears peer out.

“We found it,” Martel says, holding out the black, dust covered umbrella. “Did you start sulking while waiting?”

The bar is closing only at two today, so they have decided to get dinner before going home. But they couldn’t choose whose car to take and agreed to walk instead – despite the rain.

“Am not sulking,” Greed argues. He throws the cigarette into the pool of sleet in the storm drain.

“Naw, c’mon.” Martel hands the umbrella to Dolcetto to struggle with as she stands next to Greed. “Your nose is almost touching your chin. What are you thinkin’ ‘bout?”

With a deep, throat burning sigh, Greed turns and looks down from Martel’s cropped hair down to her leather covered shoulders. “I think I miss home.”

Martel pouts in a way that is somewhere between amused and sad. She puts an arm around Greed’s back, having to stand on her toes to reach properly, and drops her head against his shoulder.

“I think I kinda miss that stupidly fucked up family,” Greed mumbles. “And I miss my dogs.”

“Your dogs?” Martel wonders.

“Yeah. I know Lust and Envy will take care of them. But I miss passing out in the barn and waking up with all the dogs sleeping with me. Then I would have to hose myself off with them before going back in the house.”

Martel laughs. “What, is our puppy dog not enough?”

Greed looks down at her with a glare. “Puppy dog?”

“Yeah. Have you not seen Dol wag his tail when you say he did a good job?”

“What—!” They turn at the shriek. Dolcetto is halfway through opening the rusted umbrella, scowling at them. “I’m a _what_ now?”

Martel clicks her tongue. “C’mere, puppy. It’s time to go.”

“Don’t you fuckin’ call me a puppy—Sorry, boss.” He turns to Greed with a slight nod.

“Don’t worry about it.” Greed ruffles Dolcetto’s hair, making him blush and duck. He doesn’t know why he calls him boss; he isn’t even the owner of the bar. “Don’t listen to her.”

“See—Look.” Martel points to Dolcetto. “He is fucking beaming!”

They walk up to the street with Dolcetto between them, holding the umbrella in both hands. They talk through the rain, walking barely huddled out of it. Greed’s back and shoulder get soaked, but he doesn’t mind; there is a weird peace in this. It’s like walking with the dogs in the fields at night, listening to the wind shifting the stalks and the animals scuttling between them while the sky above is open like it’s resting from the work of the day.

It feels as if the people at the Devil’s Nest keep around each other like dogs, gathering in the barn after a cold night in the crop fields, finding a nook of safety.

The zap of a phone vibrating interrupts Martel. She slaps her pockets and checks her phone and shrugs.

The conversation between Dolcetto and Martel resumes as Greed rolls his eyes and drags out his phone. Something drops in his stomach when he sees the text from Ling. It’s too late for him to be awake; he had work.

Greed steps aside into the alcove of a storefront as he unlocks his phone. It takes a moment for Dolcetto and Martel to pause and backtrack toward him.

“Something wrong?” Dolcetto asks.

Martel tries to lean in to see the screen. “One of your boys?”

Greed swallows as he reads the message: ‘i think i broke ed’. He quickly asks to explain. He can’t hear what Martel and Dolcetto are saying around him as he watches the dots bubble up on the screen.

‘uuhhh…’

Then the picture pops up.

It’s dark, difficult to see, but Greed can tell that it’s Ed sat on the gritted landing of a fire escape. His legs are thrown out, back hunched. He is clearly fine if he is frowning at Ling behind the phone.

What makes Greed tense is the torn coat sleeve around the missing forearm panel and the hand with fingers bent out of shape and loose wires. There are tears on his jeans, but the left leg is the worst. It looks like he threw his prosthetics in front of himself to break a fall or to shield himself.

Greed ignores Dolcetto and Martel bickering beside him as he swallows his worry and texts back: ‘put him next to the garbage’.

‘aight i don’t think there is anything recyclable’.

It only takes a moment for Greed’s phone to blow with texts from Ed – messaging a letter at a time, one handed.

“I think I’ll have to cut this short,” Greed says finally looking up from the phone. “A bit of an accident.”

Dolcetto looks alarmed, tied between going in bare knuckled and calling for backup.

“Something serious?” Martel asks, crossing her arms. “Should I get Roa?”

Greed shakes his head. “Someone will have to call the mechanic in the morning.”

Dolcetto whistles as Martel claps Greed on the shoulder. “Sounds like Edward has a storm after his ass,”she laughs.

They say goodnight and walk apart. Greed jogs to his car through the rain as he gets the text with the address. It’s some public building beside the college – still explaining nothing about what happened. Greed drives with a pit in his gut, knees twitching in a rhythm as he turns the late night streets.

He knows he has found the place when the car crawls down a narrow alley with trash spilling over the lips of dumpsters. There are staircases of thin metal steps climbing up the sides of the red brick walls, crawling between the narrow windows. Wire glints from the railing and the vent pipes breathing steam into the orange city night sky.

The headlamps touch the edge of the curb where two dejected pair of legs are slumped. Greed stares at the bare metal sole of the left foot and the torn denim on the knees – one bloody. Greed gets out without killing the engine. Ling waves morosely from his place next to Ed whose head is down on his own lap. Ling nudges him and says something, but gets no reaction.

“What happened?” Greed asks as soon as he is next to them, fists shoved into his pockets.

Ed’s head jerks up, throwing back the mess of his hair. “This was not my idea.”

Ling shoots him a glare. “And I did not make you climb over the side of the building.”

“Because you looked so fucking worried about the raccoon!”

“And do you think I looked less worried when you fell into the barbed wire?”

Greed stares between Ed and Ling. “Raccoon? Fell? What?”

Ed turns before Ling can reply. “He saw a raccoon climb into a vent from of the campus building and got worried and wanted me to check if it got stuck.” He pauses to catch his breath, closing his eyes for a moment. “So—“

“I suggested the idea, since he is such an expert in sneaking.”

“Like _YOU_ didn’t climb into the apartment when you forgot your key.”

“That’s besides the point—The _point_ is, you fell over the side of the building, into the barbed wire, out of the wire and onto the landing.”

Greed looks up at the top of the buildings, judging the space between the roof and the first landing. It’s not a big fall, but if Ed landed as he thought he did, he is lucky. “Do you need the hospital?” he asks.

“No!” Ed barks while Ling continues to glare. There are scrapes on his forehead, on his chin. It looks like the wire snagged through his hair – missing the skin just barely.

Greed smiles down at him. “Then you are calling Winry in the morning.”

Before the argument can start up, Greed and Ling haul Ed up onto his wobbling legs and get him in the car onto the backseat. Ling sits beside Greed with crossed arms and a hard glare as Ed curses and falls onto his side on the seat as soon as the car moves. Ling looks into the rear view mirror when Ed covers his face with his hands and hisses something through his teeth.

The ruined clothes are thrown into a trash bag as Ed is sat down on the closed toilet in the bathroom. He is stripped to his boxer shorts, damp and dirty, glaring like a stray cat as blood runs down from from forehead. Ling wipes antiseptic across the open cuts without speaking, still dressed with shoes on.

Greed watches from the doorway as he throws aside his coat. He pulls a glance over Ed before heading to the wall closet in the hallway. Mostly, they stuff things they want out of the way and from under their feet in there: hardware tools, spares bolts and nails, old clothes, and folded mail boxes. Greed digs out the crutch, giving it a wipe down with the front of his T-shirt. Maybe he should adjust the height of it.

As soon as he is back in the bathroom, Ed stares with wide panicked eyes. “I don’t want that,” he mutters.

“I’m not letting you spend the night looking like that.” Greed nods to the skeletal remains of the prosthetics after Ling had pulled off the bent and broken panels. The protruding wires look borderline dangerous.

Greed feels Ling stare as he kneels down on the bathroom mat at Ed’s feet. “Don’t hit me on the head if anything feels weird,” he says. “Just use your words, alright?”

Ed nods stiffly.

Greed sets his hands to the joint of Ed’s prosthetic leg where the scratched metal connects to the tanned skin through pale scars. He feels for the locks and triggers on the brace of the port, slowly turning the mechanism. Ed has tensed, each muscle jumping as Greed presses down on the locks and hears the final click as the limb disconnects. It falls away, the weight dropping into his hands. Ed jolts back in the same moment, catching himself on his good hand.

Greed sets down the prosthetic, realising his palms are damp. “Ready?” he asks as he kneels up, reaching for the arm.

The nod from Ed is smaller. His face looks pale, lips pinched.

No matter how many times Greed has seen the shoulder built into Ed’s torso, he never manages to comprehend how it had been grafted into the body of an eleven year old. Now, at twenty-two, it looks like it’s as much a part of Ed as anything else.

The locks click, the joining mechanism turns and the arm gives away, exposing the socket. It’s dropped beside the leg as Ed slowly breathes out. Greed draws circles on the knee of Ed’s right leg as he waits for him to open his eyes.

“Wanna crash on the couch?” Greed mutters. “You hungry or anything?”

Ed shakes his head. “No, jus’ tired.”

“Bed?”

“Mhmm.”

Greed is holding out the crutch as Ed sits up. He slots his arm through the brace with a grimace and drags himself onto his foot. He stands, levelling his weight for a moment, putting his weight on the crutch.

“God this fucking sucks,” Ed proclaims before walking out of the bathroom, heading slowly through the apartment, leaving Greed kneeling on the floor.

The lights in the bedroom are left off when Greed follows Ed. He puts his hand over the switch, but doesn’t press it.

Ed had dropped onto the bed with the crutch thrown aside. He will regret that when he gets up, but Greed doesn’t lift it. There isn’t much in the room, just a closet with handles falling off, a desk left in the chaos of papers and wires, shelves with cameras, and the new addition of plants. Ed hates it looking so bare, but he doesn’t have enough belongings to fill the room, so Greed has been letting Ling clutter the space.

“Winry is gonna kick your ass into the gutter.” Greed walks up to the bed as Ed rolls into the covers, sighing quite happily.

“Just make sure I get a green burial,” Ed tells him, fidgeting to get comfortable.

Greed scoffs. “Nah, I’ll just get you thrown into the sea.”

“Still counts.”

Laughing, Greed leans down and presses a kiss to the corner of Ed’s ear peeking out from the covers and leaves the bedroom, closing the door.

The trash bags have been tied and put against the door. The prosthetics have been taken from the bathroom and placed on the coffee table with the controllers and junk shoved to the floor.

Ling is stood against the kitchen sink, still in his coat, staring across the room with a hand against his mouth. He looks pale, face too serious. Greed doesn’t want him like this. He would rather see Ling with his mouth stuffed with candy and a dopey look in his eyes as he watches from a cocoon of blankets.

“You gonna sleep?” Greed asks as he walks through the open space, trying to keep his footsteps soft.

Ling shakes his head. “No, I don’t think I can.”

“I thought you’ve been up since morning.”

Ling nods. “Fuck, just—“ He sighs, looking up at the ceiling. His eyes look like they are watering. “He fell off the roof. I tried to grab him as he held onto the wire. He pushed me aside and then fell.”

Greed steps into Ling’s space and drops his head onto his shoulder. He feels Ling lean into him.

“He almost died, didn’t he.”

“That’s one of his worst habits,” Greed tells him, forehead pressed against his neck. “Happened when I first met him. Then he was right back at kicking and punching like a cockroach.”

Ling laughs, but it sounds wrong.

“Don’t worry about him. He isn’t angry. He enjoys getting into shit and you know that arm and leg were on their final go.”

Ling says nothing else. Greed has a feeling that he will keep it in until the thoughts dissolve, settling with other worries under his skin and bones. Sometimes, Greed thinks, it seems like it’s more difficult to get Ling to talk than Ed despite all the secrecy and his desperation to handle everything independently.

Greed lifts his head off Ling’s shoulder and steps around in front of him. Ling’s hair is limp with the rain, Greed can feel how cold he is from the night as he brushes away Ling’s fringe. He leans in and presses a soft kiss to his mouth, but Ling pushes in, deepening the feeling of their lips meeting. There is an arm wrapped around Greed’s neck, keeping him safely in place.

Greed knows that something has cleared in Ling’s mind after he leans away and mutters, “This mess has made me so hungry.”

“Yeah and I haven’t had dinner yet.”

“I really can’t be bothered cooking.”

“Figured. We’ll have to bring something back for the cockroach or he might evict us.”

“Mmm. He can have the crumbs.”

Later, they wander down the staircase hand in hand, vaguely talking and barely thinking, unwilling to let go even out in the rain.

The last time Greed had been in a hospital was when he was eleven, a year after getting out of the foster home. He doesn’t remember if he ran out of the house because of anger or if there wasn’t much to it. He had been walking on the paths through the fields, it was high summer and he kept to the creeks with the low hanging willow trees and clouds of mosquitos.

He learned how fragile human bodies are that day when he fell into a well of cracked earth on the road. It may have been abandoned site of construction, he doesn’t know. Neither does he know how he did not see it. It was just an odd, completely coincidental accident. He found himself lying on his side in the ditch, struggling to roll over onto his back, in too much pain to lift himself up.

It doesn’t need to be more than two feet to break a fibula in the human leg, Greed had learned. All it takes is a freak fall. He lied there, looking up at the insects flying on the patch of blue from the dirt below. He was close enough to the car paths that maybe in the evening Lust would pass by and hear him shout for her. If she decides to help. If snakes don’t fall into the pit.

Greed came to terms with not being able to get out on his own. He didn’t feel the need to fight pain to get out; he was okay to stay in the pit. But the convenience of getting out would have been nice. He wants to watch the tadpoles grow into frogs in the pool beside the house, see the swamp’s forest in fall again, maybe finally accept the offer of a puppy from the neighbor’s farm.

The sun was setting behind the willows when a car engine hummed between the stalks. Greed called out, letting his voice get hoarse. He almost didn’t believe it when the car stopped and he heard footsteps on the dirt path.

He thought it was father when the man leaned over the pit. His face was so similar, but everything was different about him. The man must have thought Greed was dead for a moment as he just stared in blank shock until Greed asked if he would help him up – he thinks he might’ve broken a leg.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer I call for an ambulance?” the man asked. “I’m not certain if I should move you.”

“It’s just a broken leg,” Greed argued as he pushed himself not his elbows.

The man had offered to drive Greed to the hospital after giving up asking about his parents. He sincerely apologised for the mess in the car and tried to keep a conversation about school and home. Greed wondered if this is what it would be like to have a parent pick you up from school.

Somehow, he wasn’t surprised when he did end up at the dingy local hospital instead of a ditch but truly dead this turn.

By the time Greed was patched up, the man was gone and Lust was waiting for him with a disinterested frown and a set of car keys hanging from her hand. The nurses let Greed hobble off with his older sister on crutches, somehow without a bill to pay.

She cursed him out of his skin once behind the steering wheel. But Father only stared after his sister had relayed what had happened. He looked over Greed and shrugged; it’s none of his concern if Greed hasn’t been hospitalised.

Greed had learned how fragile human bodies are. He can pay a debt, apologise for a wrong doing, replace something missing, but he can’t mend flesh and bone on the whim. He had learned that if he wants to keep someone, he must take care of them.

Lying on the edge of the bed where Ed and Ling are sleeping, Greed stares into the dark above their heads. He lifts his hand, reaching across Ling, and holds it over the space where Ed’s arm should be. Slowly, he places his palm on his ribs, pressing the weight of it there. Ling shifts between them and Greed watches him settle with his forehead pressed against Ed’s chin.

  
The sun is bright in the windows when Greed wakes up. Someone had forgot to close the blinds, probably an equal fault. He doesn’t understand why he had woken up at almost ten until he realises that the shrill screeching and droning are the voices of Ed and Winry.

Greed pulls himself out of bed in nothing but underwear and walks out into the hallway on stiff legs, a lazy frown on his face. The living room is intact, but there is extra luggage on the furniture and table. Metal junk and tools are lying across the kitchen counters on unrolled rags with a sprinkling of candy wrappers.

On a stool in a clear stretched of floor, Ed is sat in a tank top and shorts with Winry on a chair beside him, hands buried in the join of his prosthetic shoulder with micro-cloth and a brush. Ling is on the backrest of the coach, jaw in his hand, watching Winry work with a look more intense than when he is studying.

“Oh! Good mornin’!” Winry calls out to Greed with a wave. Her hair is tied back with a scarf, hands in white gloves. “Sorry, did this idiot wake you up?”

Ed gnashes his teeth at Winry, but refuses to jostle her.

“Morning, doctor,” Greed replies. “I thought I heard some birds chirping.” He walks past them, nudging Winry on the shoulder before flicking Ed on the forehead.

“Ling—“ Winry gestures with the brush as Greed walks away. “Now look here, see these locks? I made them impossible to accidentally press, but if you know where they are—“

Winry had given Greed the same lecture after she had realised he will be staying. She sat him down around Ed who had face planted a pillow on the floor and made him follow his instructions in taking off the prosthetics in case of an emergency. She showed him which wires to avoid snagging, which panels to remove, which implants to check for damage which might make the situation an ambulance necessary emergency.

Greed had been baffled as she made sure he repeated her instructions and understood them, making them stick. But he sat and listened, trying to keep Ed patient by absently braiding and unbraiding his hair. Greed wants to take care of him, so he made sure to learn.

With a bowl overspilling with Lucky Charms, Greed leans against the couch beside Ling.

“Have they strangled each other yet?” he asks.

Ling looks over his shoulder like he hadn’t noticed Greed approach. “Not yet, but I’m counting on it.” Ling snatches a marshmallow out of the cereal bowl and turns back to Winry and Ed. He is being patient, even holding back from using the crutch as a club.

Finally, dusting off her hands, Winry steps back. “You’ve laid off maintenance for too long and those are going to take me a couple of days to clean and fix,” she says. “Pushing back other work will cost you extra.”  
  
“It’s fine,” Ed mumbles. “I’ll wait.”

“Now I do have your spares, but you won’t be able to wear them for your field work, you got it?”

Ed salutes. “Aye, ma’am.”

Winry brings forward a suitcase from the living room floor. It’s brown lather with a strap to go across the shoulder. She unlocks it on the kitchen table, opening the padded interior which holds in place the white panelled prosthetic arm and leg. The joints are thinner and the fingers and the details of the ankle and heel are finer. Instead of the rugged chrome and stainless steel, the panels look almost porcelain with deep purple contours of flowers drawn on like tattoos.

“Who designed those?” Ling asks with a spoon in his mouth which he had stolen out of Greed’s hand.

“Me and a friend,” Winry tells him. “I asked Ed what he wants me to do with the backups and he said—“

“I don’t care.” Ed watches Winry lift the leg out of the case, rubbing sleep out of his eye. “Do whatever you want.”

Ling hums with another spoonful of cereal in his mouth. “I like them.”

“They look neat,” Ed agrees.

Winry halts. “Neat? Just _NEAT_?” She clutches the leg to her chest, teary eyed. “This is the finest work anyone could ever hope for, and you call it neat. That’s it, I’m charging extra. On top of emotional compensation for showing me that—“ She points to the wreckage of the regular prosthetics which had been gathered roughly into the second foam lined case.

“You WHAT—!”

“Shh—“ Greed pats Ed’s shoulder. “Respect the mechanic or she will shovel you into an early grave herself.”

Winry rips the crutch out of Ed’s hand before he launches it in Greed’s direction. “You fuck off and get some fucking clothes on you _fucking traitor_!” Ed yells, red in the face – from the lack of oxygen probably.

“Why? You clearly like the view.”

The complaining, or yelling, is cut off when Winry connects the leg to the socket of Ed’s thigh and shudder passes through him as he hunches forward with gritted teeth. Slowly, the porcelain white toes of the prosthetic curl in the mirror image of the flesh foot, the knee bending as the leg presses against the stool.

With a steeled expression, Winry begins joining the arm, wire by wire before pressing the two halves of the joint together. The locks click smoothly, the mechanisms meeting and marrying into a whole. Another shock passes through Ed before the tension ebbs from him and the fingers flex and meet in a fist. Winry lets go of her work after sealing the joints and steps back to watch the limbs come to life.

Ed stands from the stool, looking down as both of his feet meet on the floor. His hands flex at his sides as his shoulders roll.

“Promise me you wont try doing whatever it was you did last night?” Winry asks as she turns back to her tools, setting them back in the cases. There is a tension in her voice, poorly covered with irritation.

“Mmm—“ Ed considers. “That’s a hard promise. I might have to stop listening to Ling.”

A bristling shudder goes up Ling’s back. “I didn’t tell you to throw yourself off the b—“

Greed yanks on Ling’s ponytail, shutting him up quick as a terrified expression appears on Winry’s face. She turns to Ed who is walking in circles through the room, watching his mismatched feet on the floorboards.

* * *

There is barely a sign of the sun between the skyscrapers. It’s too early yet for the commuters to appear, for the stores to open and work to begin. But it’s still too early for Greed to sleep, so he drives Ed to the airport, drifting through the empty streets while Ed sleeps on the backseat with his suitcase for a pillow. The music is low and there is a smell of smoke.

Frost has grown on the windows; despite the heating, the cold still creeps in from the street. The sky is oddly clear with tracks from planes on the horizon.

It’s been weeks since Ed’s prosthetic had been replaced, but Ed began to experience what Winry described as growing pains. Despite being twenty-two, something had shifted and the measurements of his leg and arm have not been ideal. Ed had declared that it’s because he grew at least an inch. He beamed with pride.

The ports have to be changed and the prosthetics rebuilt. If not, there could be permanent consequences. But Winry needs a proper workshop to do the job and surgery is necessary. So they will head back to granny Pinako and the unassuming house on the hills. It’s the halfway point with Ed in the West and Al in the East. They will meet there, an impromptu family reunion back in the valley.

The lights of the airport appear on the black strip of sky. There is already traffic building up at the drop off point as the car pulls into the indoor parking lot. Greed turns in his seat and looks down at Ed. He is almost invisible under the parka with his face tucked into the collar, untied hair all over the place.

Greed reaches over, pushing on Ed’s shoulder. “Hey, brat.” He prods his cheek through the hair as Ed finally shifts and looks up.

“Are we—“ Ed stares through the window and sighs, dropping back.

“Yeah, maybe you shouldn’t have played Kirby until two,” Greed laughs. “Up you get, they won’t let me stay here all night.”

Sluggishly, with barely open eyes and tangled hair, Ed crawls out of the car to stand on the concrete floor of the parking lot level, the suitcase hanging from his hand. Greed steps out after him and pulls Ed toward himself with an arm around his shoulders. He hears the suitcase drop on the concrete before Ed has both arms around his neck, his head against Greed’s chest.

It’s difficult not to smile and press his face against that golden hair. It reminds Greed of how Ling had grabbed hold of Ed and refused to drop off when Ed woke him up to say bye. Ling almost fell asleep, clinging like a sloth, until Ed pinched him and escaped in the moment of shock.

“Love you,” Greed mumbles as he nudges Ed’s chin up to kiss him.

He is so groggy with sleep that Ed just leans into the kiss and lets Greed hold him up until they both get tired and stand there without moving. Ed has his face buried against the collar of Greed’s coat, hands wrung into into the seams. Only when he is exhausted he lets himself be so easy.

“You will be back in a couple of weeks,” Greed considers.

“Yeah. Al is looking forward to meeting Ling when we come back,” Ed says into Greed’s chest.

Greed tightens his arms around him, feeling satisfaction in that he can cover Ed with his body almost entirely – like he can keep him hidden as long he has his arms around him. “Either it’s gonna be a disaster or they will team up in bullying you.”

“Mmmm I can take them on.”

They let go when Lan Fan and Winry find them. The girls look just as tired; Winry is clinging onto Lan Fan’s sleeve, the suitcases shared between them. After checking in their luggage, Winry and Ed stumble toward the departure gates, huddled together in a tired comradeship like kids headed to school. Winry had made sure to kiss Lan Fan on last time and give Greed a particularly choking hug before she headed off with Ed in tow. Despite the exhaustion, they both seem excited to come back home.

“You want a ride?” Greed asks Lan Fan after they finally turn to head out of the airport.

Lan Fan nods slowly and links her arm through Greed’s. He freezes slightly at the contact, but leads her on toward the car park.

The sun is starting to peek between the towers of the cityscape and the streets are slowly filling with the early risers. Greed sees Lan Fan off with a quiet goodbye through her yawns. She says she will come by in a couple of days; it feels weird to not have Winry or Ling hanging over her shoulder.

Sleep finally starts to feel like an option when Greed parks underneath the pale apartment building. He pauses at the door when he hears the purr rumbling underneath the cropped shrubbery. The white cat barrels out and into his ankles, stumped tail poised as it presses up against him.

Greed kneels down and drags the cat into his lap, letting it press against his chest and shake with the volume of its purrs. Eventually, once it feels satisfied with the attention, the cat jumps off and trots away with ruffled fur.

“Thankless shit,” Greed calls after it.

The blinds are closed throughout the apartment. Greed does not switch on the lights as he undresses. He puts the cutlery Ed left behind in the sink and stacks the notebooks on the kitchen table, clicking off the pen.

There is no light in the bedroom, just silhouettes to go by from the dawning morning. Greed sees the shape of Ling sprawled out on the bed, arms and legs thrown out with the covers bunched around his torso.

Greed climbs onto the mattress, pushing down Ling’s arm as he lies down beside him. He can see nothing but the black of the shadows, feeling the body next to him shift. A warm arm drags across his chest, pulling him closer. He lets himself be guided, settling his head underneath Ling’s chin, chest to chest.

“Did you manage to wake him up?” Ling whispers like there is anyone to hear them.

Greed hums – too lazy to speak.

Ling laughs. “Did you say that it’s a bus and a taxi from the airport to the house?”

Greed hums again.

“Only Winry has the strength to deal with Ed for that long in that state.”

“They’ll sleep through the day. I’m not expecting him to call once they’ve landed.”

Ling is quite for a moment. He lifts a leg over Greed’s hip, the weight of it comfortable and familiar.

“Have you been there before?”

“Yeah. For New Year’s. They had fireworks that looked like they hadn’t been approved for any market. Winry and Ed had decided to modify them, Al helped out of concern. I swear granny only invited me because she wanted to inspect me. She was the only one who bothered to ask what kind of a parent calls their kid ‘greed’.”

“What’s the answer to that question?”

“Well—My adoptive father had seven kids and someone started a joke that we are the cardinal sins – it was a bit of a catholic household. The nicknames became our names.”

“Huh… And why did greed get picked out for you?”

“Don’t you get it.” Greed tightens his arms around Ling and presses his face closer against his neck. “I don’t let go of things I like. And if they aren’t mine already, I’ll do anything to get them.” He kisses Ling’s jaw, feeling his pulse thud through the thin skin.

The breath of the scoff brush through Greed’s hair. Ling’s hand is on the back of his neck – a possessive, selfish gesture.

“Tell me more about that house in the hills.”

They keep talking in the dark, whispering in the confines of the space between them. In the dark, the boundaries are erased, the walls and the ceiling are gone, there is no bed, just their voices. Somehow, it feels like they are in one body – thoughts and words shared without hesitation, comfortable in the endless space with just this conversation.

* * *

  
The low branches of the sapling birches lash across legs and arms. Ed keeps running, the camera strap swinging from his hand as he jumps over the roots and the ravines gauged out by the streams which come during the storm season. Greed follows behind, slightly slower, looking through the trees into the valley below where the river rushes.

Ed jumps out of the forest edge, slipping on a root, landing on his ass on the grass with the camera against his chest.

“Are you trying to bust a stitch?” Greed steps out onto the rain dewed grass and reaches down for Ed who is wincing from his sore ass.

“Shut up, genius,” Ed spits, but still takes Greed’s hand. The ass of his shorts is damp and green, Greed hits it for the sake of it and doesn’t regret it when a patch of his hair is almost yanked out at the root.

“Now now, strenuous activity might make the recovery period longer,” Greed calmly instructs as he rubs his scalp.

“And what will you do about it?”

A screech echoes through the valley as Ed is slung onto Greed’s shoulder. He ignores the fists hitting his back as he walks down the hill toward the timber panelled house sitting at the foot of the incline. There is smoke rising from the vents, trailing toward the overcast sky.

Chairs are set on the patio and a table with emptied plates. A dog sleeping on the steps and the door is open, only leaving the netting clipped in place. One of the chairs is tipped back against the railing with Ling precariously sprawled as he listens to Al across the table. Neither of them have been bothered to dress out of pyjamas.

“I think I’ve caught a squirrel!” Greed bounces Ed on his shoulder, making him squeak.

Al laughs into his palm as Ling cheers, “Skin it and throw it in the oven!”

Greed narrowly avoids a knee to his face as he finally sets Ed down on the patio. The sound of a table drill at work comes from inside the house with the occasional sweep at the steel shavings. Ed looks rumpled and tense, standing with his arms held out from his torso and the camera clenched in one hand. His sneakers are drenched in mud and grass stains are blooming on his shorts and the back of his t-shirt.

“Did you find the moose?” Al asks as he wipes the tears out of his eyes, still grinning.

Ed kicks the dust off the porch and mutters, “No, this motherfucker doesn’t understand the meaning of stealth.”

Greed raises hands in half assed defence.

“That’s rude—“ Al argues.

“Or animals can smell morons,” Ed suggests as Den bristles on the steps behind Greed, showing his teeth and gums.

“I did nothing,” Greed tells the growling dog. “Seriously.”

“I think he is just too used to us,” Al suggests. “That’s how animals react to the staff at the clinic.”

It’s difficult to imagine any cat or dog, or other animal, trying to take a swipe at Al. Even with scarred hands that start to shake from nerve damage, he is always as gentle as he can be. Greed has seen cats gravitate to him like a source of comfort. Like the stump tailed tomcat who always checks if they had brought Al back when someone comes home and walks away in disappointment . But Greed won’t make the mistake of assuming Al is harmless.

Ed sits down heavily at the table, sighing. Greed perches on the armrest of Ling’s chair, letting him hold onto his waist, a hand sneaking underneath the hoodie. There are plates with pie crumbs and abandoned forks, empty glasses and cups with dregs of tea. An old wood stove is burning and the smoke smells like birch.

Greed and Ling had come two days ago after a call from Winry. She told them that the surgery recovery might take longer after they found more work than they expected. They didn’t hesitate to fly out as soon as they could. Granny had opened the door to them, waving them in for dinner without questions. Ed and Al were already at the table with a cane and an IV drip between them, looking sleepless but glad.

Rain is pouring beyond the cover of the patio. Den finds a space under the table after shaking the water off his coat. Granny Pinako has stepped out of the house with Winry in tow, hands covered in metal dust and oil. Winry drops her arms onto Al’s shoulders, leaning into the conversation.

With the rain and the meandering words and laughter, Greed leans back against Ling. Underneath the table, Ed’s foot pushes his own as he pushes back until a small war breaks out and they are trying not to grin.

When evening comes and the rain goes, the lights and the stove will be lit inside the house, insects will sit on the windows trying to get some of the warmth. Someone will drag Winry away from work as the phone rings for her, Ed and Al will barely keep their eyes open as they fall asleep against each other, Ling will be cackling with granny over the photo stuffed into overfull albums. It will feel like home, like every evening they have known there.

The thoughts are interrupted as Ed finally manages to stamp his dirty foot on Greed’s ankle. Ed’s cackling is manic as Greed leans over Ling and shoves him out of his chair.


End file.
